A Vague Memory of Wisdom
by Akabeko
Summary: Dean/Castiel. H/C. A library, demons, and fire.
1. Chapter 1

**_1. The Library of a Son Who Collected His Father's Works_**

It's dark and crypt-like and spooky and all Dean can think of are cheap black-and-white horror movies and the very real possibility of getting buried alive down here.

Cas doesn't seem to notice the atmosphere at all.

"I have heard," he says, and Dean wants to shush him because he's too loud in the narrow space and his voice echoes off the low, curved ceiling. "That there are books here that are to be found nowhere else on Earth."

In the dim light from his torch Dean can see Cas is trailing his hands along one of the shelves, head titled down and eyes scanning over the lines of books like he's reading the titles that Dean can't even begin to make out.

Dean follows him around the end of one stack and past two more before Cas stops, looks around then strides up along an aisle, nodding to himself like he knows where they're going. He's taking them deeper and deeper into the labyrinth of books and Dean is kind of worried he won't be able to find his way out anymore. There's no indication on the stack ends, no numbers or letters like in a normal library to let you know what's stored there that Dean can see and he's been in enough to know.

He can't even see the light from the entrance they came in through anymore either and Cas just keeps leading them further and further in, sometimes running his fingers along the spines, sometimes along the blackened wood shelves themselves. It smells musty and rotten and Dean's a bit afraid the shelves will just disintegrate at his touch and the books will just turn to a mess of wet, bug-eaten ancient paper mush. Dean's certainly not going to touch anything.

"You know what book we're looking for?" Dean asks. He keeps his voice low wondering if just breathing on the shelves too much will break them. And he kind of feels like there are _things_ down here that shouldn't be disturbed, which is ridiculous because he's a hunter and anything that's lingering down here he should definitely be able to get rid of.

Cas looks back at him, his hand still resting against the shelf and his eyes look weirdly shiny and empty in the glare from the torch. Dean can just about make out a frown.

"No. But we'll find it, if it is here," he says, _still_ not bothering to lower his voice at all.

"Y'know that doesn't actually make sense, right?" Dean whispers pointedly, and Dean can just _tell_ Cas thinks he's an idiot because he almost-smiles, and his frown deepens, and he looks away and tells him,

"Whatever creatures exist in this place will already be aware of our presence, Dean. Whispering is pointless."

"I don't like to hear myself five times over from the echo, thanks," Dean replies, which is sort of true. Though how you get echoes in a place so packed with rows upon rows of smelly old books is beyond him. Also, "And exactly what lives down here? You never mentioned anything about anything _living_ down here."

He sees Cas shift, reach his hand to run along the opposite shelf, and Dean absolutely fucking _hates_ it when Cas doesn't bother to tell him shit like this.

"They are of no concern," is all he says, in his loud I'm-an-angel-and-therefore-indestructible tone.

"They are to me," Dean grinds out prissily. Cas just shakes his head a bit and picks up the pace and they walk and walk and all the time all Dean can hear is the sound of their shoes against the stone floor and his own breathing, heavy with the movement and the mustiness, and the slip and slide of the material of Cas's coat and the soft shushing of Cas's fingers running through thick dust.

The deeper in they go the hotter it seems to get, which is weird because he remembers it being really _cold_ when they first arrived, entering through a steep, worn staircase made of thick heavy stone that had felt a little claustrophobic and a lot like it was about to collapse in on itself. But now it's so hot, and kind of dry, enough that Dean is starting to think about taking his jacket off when Cas stops abruptly.

Dean tenses automatically, thinking that maybe Cas has sensed something dangerous nearby and how much he is going to give Cas shit for not warning him about crap like this _beforehand_ later on but all Cas does is turn fully to his left and reaches out both hands to lie flat against the rows of books in front of him.

"What is it?" Dean asks, _quietly_, just to be sure, his hand wrapping around his gun, eyes scanning what he can in the poor light. There are no windows and there's nothing to see by other than his torch and there's really not that much _air_ Dean notices.

For a moment Cas holds completely still, doesn't even seem to be breathing, before he's mumbling something under his breath and slowly he bends his knees and his hands fall to the next shelf down. Then Cas bends further and Dean hears his knees hit the stone hard, not that he seems to notice. His hands follow, past the shelf to the tall books on the lowest level. In the torchlight Dean can see the dust Cas has disturbed with all this movement, swirling and twisting, and it's weird because it doesn't actually seem to actually touch Cas anywhere unlike the way Dean can see it falling against his own hand and arm.

"What?" Dean asks again.

He wants to move the torch away, look up and down the aisle, and above and through the books -just to make sure- because he can't see _anything_ beyond this pool of light, and it's not like Cas needs it. It's obvious he can see even in _this_ dark, which should be reassuring but is actually more unnerving.

Yet, he doesn't want to not be able to see Cas. Doesn't want to take his eyes off his stupid hair and his stupid coat like he might just disappear, which Dean consoles himself with knowing is a pretty well-founded concern. Cas's eyes are closed and there is concentration on his face. Cas shifts in a way that makes Dean think might just be _excitement_ and Dean wonders at why he would think that. Cas never seems to get excited about anything at all. It's then that Dean thinks of Sam and how he would cream his pants just _seeing_ this place. Sam would be asking questions and being annoying and Dean finds himself wishing Sam was there with them.

Dean almost misses it when Cas turns to look at him, a glance, before he turns away.

"This is it," he says, bending forward slowly and both hands coming to rest on one book.

It's tall and slim, heavy brown leather bound and as Cas draws it out Dean thinks that the edges of the paper might once have been gold except now they're blackened and thick with dust.

Cas is careful. Too careful, like the book might bite him, and he's back to mumbling under his breath. Dean wants to ask if he's praying except he's already pretty certain that Cas _is_ and there's something wrong, something that makes him feel empty in his stomach and on edge. The sound of the book's leather against the crumbling wood of the shelf and the sides of its neighbours is too much like a groan or a door creaking open and it's so _loud_. Cas's shoulders tense like he's straining and _fuck_, Dean thinks, the book is probably cursed six ways from Sunday and he really, really wants Cas to stop. Except what he _does_ is shift the torch to his other hand, holds the light higher, as though it'll help, and puts his hand on Cas's shoulder.

Under his coat Dean can feel the seams of his jacket and below that human muscles taut, pulling, and if this is hard work for an angel then Dean really doesn't want to think what kind of heavy shit has been laid on this book.

"It doesn't want to leave," Cas says, sounding frustrated and a little bit pissed off.

He's glaring at the book and Dean can't help but suggest, "Maybe you should ask it nicely?"

Cas huffs what Dean thinks is a laugh and he can feel the movement under his hand, warm and light in the fear and dark and Dean is glad that he didn't have to come alone.

"Some books," Cas tells him, changing his grip on the book, fingers almost stroking at the leather. He tries pulling on it again and there's another groan and creak and Dean is relieved when Cas carries on speaking, sounding as though this is all perfectly normal, like he might talk about the weather. "Some books," he says again, "That are ancient and filled with knowledge that should never have been written down become stubborn and proud."

"Cas," Dean says, disbelievingly. "You do realise you're talking about bits of old paper? You saying that's got a personality?" He waves the torch at it and in the better light Dean sees that Cas's fingers have turned white from grasping so forcefully.

"It is an idea," is all Cas says, like that explains anything at all. Dean wonders if Cas even understands the concept of a straight answer, but he feels oddly amused more than annoyed.

"Move over," he says, straightening up and balancing the torch on the low shelf to point towards the book. He shoves at Cas's shoulder so there's room for him to get his hands on the book too.

"You're taking forever," he explains. Cas is looking at him with a half-expression that looks almost amused. "Yeah, yeah," Dean agrees, "Puny human." He shrugs. "But you never know."

Cas nods once, shuffles over on his knees and Dean feels tingling, like static, almost scalding heat, unnatural smoothness when he touches the book. He's fairly positive though that Cas would never have let him help if it had been dangerous to him, so Dean grips tightly, pulls when he feels Cas beside him tense and strain. It's then that Dean realises just how damn close they are. Out the corner of his eye, Cas looks pale, washed out in the shadows cast by the torch. He's not sweating like Dean knows he is, even though Dean can feel how warm his body is where their shoulders are pressed together, where their legs meet. It's kind of cosy.

It's just to get this stupid book out, Dean tells himself. It's just practical, and Dean can feel now how much the book is resisting, the stupid fucking thing.

"_Move_ you piece of shit book," Dean growls. Cas rises up on his knees a bit higher, shakes his head.

"Bullying it won't work, Dean," Cas says, sounding amused again. Dean thinks he likes it when Cas sounds like that. Like maybe he's got some feelings after all and he's not just pretending or emotionally retarded or just doesn't actually care.

"Hey," Dean argues, "You're the one who said it was _alive_." He scowls at the book. "Maybe we could threaten it; 'We're gonna burn you if you don't cut it out, you little bitch', or something."

"We need it more than it needs physical form," Cas tells him seriously, to which all Dean can do is roll his eyes because seriously, what the hell?

"You're insane," Dean says, because no freaking book is gonna get the better of Dean Winchester. He decides, "Right. On three we'll yank it together. And it'd better come out or I swear I will start kicking this bookshelf down to get to it."

Cas is sort-of smiling as he nods and agrees, then Dean counts up to three and pulls as hard as he can and beside him Cas pushes back on his knees, lending his weight to the effort and after a second, suddenly, the book comes free and they both fall back hard against the shelving behind them.

They've thrown up a tonne of dust in the effort and it makes Dean cough and damn the air tastes like crap. He blinks crap out of his eyes and sits there for a moment staring at the bastard book and if Dean didn't think it would make him sound crazy, he could've sworn the book did that on purpose.

Then he feels movement against his side and realises he's half sprawled on top of Cas and both of them are still gripping the book tightly, like it might run away at any moment.

"Sorry," Dean says, releasing his hold on the book and extracting himself from Castiel. He heaves himself to his feet, dust clinging to his clothes and his skin. When he turns to Castiel the angel is frowning and looking a bit dazed.

"Hey," Dean says. He leans forward, offering Cas a hand up. "Didn't squash you too bad, did I?"

Cas blinks before turning to look at Dean, his eyes going wide and sort of glassy looking. It's just the light, Dean tells himself.

"No," Cas says, but he doesn't sound that convinced. "It's not that."

He looks down at the book he's still grasping tightly, shakes his head then looks back up at Dean.

Dean wiggles his fingers. "Come on."

Cas looks at his hand curiously and Dean sees that it's kind of dirty and covered in god knows what and Dean has the sudden urge to wipe his hands on his jeans to clean them. Which is ridiculous. Cas takes his hand anyway though, letting Dean haul his not-very-heavy ass off the ground and then they're standing so close they're almost chest-to-chest and Dean _knows_ he should back away, except he doesn't want to.

This is different, Dean thinks, from all the times Cas has invaded his space before. Dean doesn't want Cas to move away so he just stays where he is, looking at Cas's eyes up-close. Looking at those really, painfully dry looking lips. Cas's skin is so clean even though Dean knows it should be covered in dust and sweat.

It's _hot_.

Cas starts to say, "We should," and Dean watches his mouth form the words and is kind of disappointed when Cas stops talking, his lips pressing together, mouth turned unhappily down.

He backs away then, slowly, and Dean almost follows, liking the proximity. But as soon as Cas isn't there anymore, up in his face, Dean wonders why the hell he thought that.

They weren't arguing, and it's not like he had any good _reason_ to get so close to Cas. To _stay_ so close to him.

"Dean," Cas says, sounding like he's trying to get his attention, which is weird because it's not like he needs to. It's not like there's anything else interesting to look at what with the being in a freaking _library_. "Dean," Cas says again, louder this time, and holds up the book between them.

Dean knew he hated that book.

He glares at it, suspicious, wondering if it's secretly evil, a follower of Lucifer, and is going to attack them any second.

"Bring over your torch," Cas says, titling his head towards the bookshelf it's still balanced on.

"You don't need it," Dean shrugs, not really wanting to get any further away from Cas, who frowns and shifts his shoulders, standing up taller.

"No, but bring it anyway."

Which is definitely weird but Dean supposes Cas must have his reasons. He just doesn't feel like moving.

"I'm not going anywhere, Dean," Cas says, like he just read Dean's mind. Which he probably did, but whatever.

Dean's starting to think something is wrong here. He can't remember ever being afraid to take a couple of steps away from _anyone_ before, let alone Cas.

There's something in Cas's eyes too, concern or doubt, as he watches Dean turn a little to the side, walk over to retrieve the torch and then walk back again. Dean can feel it; his gaze on him. Something uncertain. It's kind of twisted, Dean thinks, but he _likes_ it.

He likes it even more when he's back at Cas's side.

Cas narrows his eyes at Dean for a moment before looking behind him into the pitch black just inches away and Dean wonders what he can see back there. Then he looks down at the book.

"I don't think we should take this from here," he says. He's looking at the cover, at the embossed symbols, running his thumb over them slowly, thoughtfully. Dean thinks he looks sad.

"Why not?" Dean asks, angling the torch down towards the book to get a better look. He frowns. "Those look kind of familiar."

"It is our language -the language of the angels," Cas tells him. "This shouldn't be here." He looks up at Dean again. "I should not read this. It is forbidden."

Dean scoffs. "Bit late for that now."

He kind of wishes he'd kept his mouth shut then because Cas looks for a second like that actually hurt and he draws away, face carefully blank.

"I suppose you're right," he says. Dean watches as Cas balances the book on his arm and carefully pulls open the cover and pages his way quickly through it, apparently knowing precisely what he's looking for and where to find it. For some kind of massive angel secret, Dean thinks, it really doesn't seem to be all that unfamiliar to Castiel.

"So we have to stay down here?" Dean can see gold letters, vivid blues and reds, as pages are turned. The paper looks crisp and new and Dean thinks that's the creepiest thing he's seen so far.

"I won't risk taking this out into the world," Cas says without looking up, his eyes scanning quickly.

Dean follows Cas's fingers, the pull of tendons in Cas's hands, and thinks they're pretty cool to watch.

"Then what's it doing here?" Dean asks. "If it's so dangerous." Not that the library seems to be in danger of getting raided anytime soon. No human knows it's here anymore, Cas told him, and the entrance was sealed with layers of demon traps and something that looked a lot like concrete. No one has stood here in centuries, Dean thinks, Dean _knows_. No one will ever find them here.

The thought makes his shift closer to Cas.

"There was a man," Cas begins, then stops abruptly. The book falls open in his hands and Cas just stares.

"This is," Castiel says, and Dean puts a hand on Cas's shoulder to bring him closer to see for himself, but all he can discern are rows of meticulously drawn symbols in black ink and a couple of weird diagrams made up of lots of straight lines. This close, he notices that Cas smells kind of nice. Not sweaty at all. Dean really wants to shrug off his jacket.

"They're like the symbols you carved into us," Dean realises.

Cas turns his body slightly towards him. "They are of the same language," he affirms.

Dean nods. "Your language."

He swaps the hand his torch is in so it's at Cas's shoulder. With his free hand Dean reaches to touch the page and finds himself tracing the patterns with a finger.

The writing is cool to the touch and he thinks he can hear sound and breath as his skin passes over lines and curves and Dean is a bit freaked out that he's not afraid.

"It's awesome," he says, fingers following the straight line of what looks like a k.

Cas doesn't say anything but Dean can feel warm breath against his cheek where Cas has turned his head to look at him. Dean thinks, if he just turned his head now they would be close enough to _kiss_.

Which is a new thought (though it isn't) and so suddenly appearing in his mind from nowhere (except not) that then it's all Dean can think about.

His hands follow the curve of the symbol down and he wants to look at Cas and he wants to touch more than just Cas's side as they stand close. Dean wants to feel more than just the material of Cas's jacket under his hand.

This, Dean thinks, must be some kind of screwed up angel thing, because he can't ever remember wanting to get his hands up Cas's shirt and his mouth on Cas's skin before. He can't actually remember _ever_ wanting to fuck somebody quite as much as he does Cas right now - angel of the Lord in a man's body or not - and that's really saying something where Dean is concerned.

He can _smell_ Cas, and he _likes_ it, even though he knows there is a shit load of ancient not-pleasant-fragranced dust up his nose, but all he can smell is Cas; clean like rain, sweet like grass. Also, he shouldn't _care_.

"What is this, Cas?"

_Fuck_ he wants to turn his head, but this isn't right. Something isn't right.

Instead, he watches his own hand as it follows patterns down the page to the warm skin of Cas's wrist where he's holding the book and Dean can feel Cas's borrowed pulse.

Cas shifts beside him, his shoulder pressing closer. Dean imagines that Cas tilts his head, frowning. The silence lengthens so that all Dean can hear is the whispering, quiet in his ears, blood pounding through his head because he's _hot_, and the slide of his own fingers pushing further up Cas's wrists, under his coat and his jacket and his shirt.

"There are so many," Cas starts to say, but Dean can feel every puff of air as he can see Cas's lips moving at the edge of his vision and just can't bear it, can't stop it, has to turn and _taste_ them.

Cas just stands stock still for a moment but his lips are soft and dry and warm and Dean doesn't really care. He licks, and presses closer and finally Cas opens his mouth and Dean feels like he's just won the fucking universe.

He spreads fingers around Cas's wrist, pushes his hand up under his sleeves and Dean can feel hair and Cas's skin is not as smooth as he thought it would be.

Because he's a _dude_, Dean reminds himself, but the thought doesn't put him off at all. Covering Cas's mouth with his own and teasing Cas's tongue is so fucking _good_. Dean wants to touch more and it's not like he needs the light of the torch anymore so he thinks, fuck it, and lets it fall to the floor. His fingers stretch free and his hand curves around Cas's neck, smoothing over the hair there. Dean tries to pull Cas closer, except there's a damn book in the way, and then there's a smashing sound that startles them apart.

Dean gasps in air because apparently he forgot to breathe when he was sucking face with Cas and in the absolute darkness he can hear that Cas is winded too.

"The fuck?" Dean says, or more like _pants_ because kissing Cas was apparently more urgent than breathing.

"The torch," Cas tells him. They're still close enough that Dean can feel Cas's breath on his face and Dean's not letting go of his grip on Cas's wrist or his neck.

"I _know_ that," Dean hisses. He can't understand it. He's pissed off but he's _not_. He wants to fucking _hump_ at Cas until he comes, and he doesn't, because they're supposed to be working and this is a creepy old crypt of a library. And this is _Cas_.

Dean knows his eyes are wide. He can feel the stretch but it's so dark he wouldn't be able to tell if they were open or closed otherwise. "Why the fuck did I drop the torch?"

"I can still see," Cas assures him, and he sounds comforting. Dean wishes he could see his face, or at least his face and then Cas says, "I won't leave you here," and Dean realises he's gripping Cas's arm even more tightly than before. And that's just freaking embarrassing for a hunter.

"I didn't mean that," he tries to explain. "I didn't care about it." He shakes his head, trying to clear some of the heat and confusion, and something that feels a lot like lust. "I don't know what the hell I'm..."

He just can't say it and anyway, Cas is right there so instead Dean swears under his breath and leans forward and it's not far to Cas's lips, thank _fuck_.

For a moment Cas goes rigid, tries to pull his head back and away but Dean holds his head tightly, tilting it back so he can kiss along Cas's chin and it's weird, the prickle of stubble against his tongue but _damn_ if it doesn't make him hornier than he already was. He knows, though, how strong Cas is and if he really wanted to, _really_ didn't want Dean licking at his neck and kissing at his ears, then he could push Dean off like he was an annoying insect.

Instead, Dean feels Cas's breath speed up and Cas lifts his chin when Dean kissed along the line of his throat like he wants more too.

But he says, "There are many things that reside in this place." He takes a breath and Dean can feel that he is trying to hold himself still but Cas shivers when Dean's fingers trail up his arm to his elbow. "I believe something is affecting you."

"Us," Dean says against Cas's skin, wanting to stop and wanting to see Cas naked and he hates that he can't decide if this lust and need and want are fake or if they were there all along.

"Us," Cas agrees. "We should stop. The book..."

Cas suddenly looks down and Dean has to move away from Cas's neck. Dean won't let go though. He won't let go of Cas's arm, his other hand slides along the collar of Cas's coat to grip at his shoulder and Dean knows he _can't_ move far. It's like he needs Cas close or he won't be able to breathe.

Dean closes his eyes, not that it makes much difference, but he's _trying_. He's trying to stop himself, trying to work out what's going on. There's a heat in him that wants Cas, wants him here and now, wants to break his infuriating calm and quiet. He wants to see Cas whimper and squirm and rut and touch him, _fuck_ Dean wants Cas to just _touch_ him. His brain kind of gets stuck on that thought and then Dean can't remember if he's ever thought about this before. Dean can't remember if he's ever watched Cas and wanted him to take off his stupid, ugly coat so he could see the lines of that body better. Dean knows he's looked at those eyes before and liked them. He knows he's seen Cas smile and it's made him weirdly pleased. But this. But _this_.

And when Dean opens his eyes he still can't see anything, and it's all the excuse Dean needs to push his hand up into Cas's hair and it feels fucking _awesome_. He's just trying to see what Cas is doing, Dean tells himself, even as his other hand strokes down the length of Cas's forearm, then Dean reaches up to touch at Cas's face and it's an _accident_ that his fingers find the edge of Cas's lips. It really is.

Cas is tense and warm and he's looking down -at the book, Dean supposes- and it takes all of Dean's self-control to ask, "Can you get us out of here, Cas?"

There's a long, long pause, and Dean traces the edges of Cas's cheek and combs through his hair and really doesn't give a shit what the answer is.

Then Cas says, his voice low and heavy and sounding so wasted it makes Dean even _hotter_, "I can, but I don't..."

He trails off and Dean thinks he hears the "want to" anyway because then Cas drops the book from his hands. There's a dull thud, the line of the book is gone from Dean's stomach and Dean can't stop himself from pushing himself up against Cas and pushing their bodies together until Cas's back hits what Dean supposes is a bookshelf. There's a noise like books falling, a dull scraping as books are pressed back and fall to the floor and Dean coughs at the dust Cas has thrown up. Then Cas's hands are gripping at his arms and Dean is so _relieved_ he almost comes right there. And wouldn't that be just the most embarrassing thing ever.

Dean gets a leg between Cas's thighs, presses forward and up and Cas hisses and arches into the touch and it's pretty damn amazing because it's right then that Dean remembers this is an _angel_ who not so long ago had seemed really pretty fucking terrified of even the idea of sex.

It makes Dean grin and wish he could see Cas's face.

"Tell me," Dean demands, placing his hands at Cas's waist and sliding them up along his sides, feeling the cool cotton underneath his skin. "Tell me what you want."

Cas's reply is fingers in his hair pulling him down and putting his lips on Dean's and licking at his mouth with his tongue. Which is a pretty awesome idea, Dean decides, and meets Cas's tongue with his own and shoves up harder against him. He kind of feels like a teenager, dry humping at girls in dark broom cupboards, except Cas is no girl and this is no cupboard. Dean can feel Cas hard against his leg, and his quiet, inhuman strength under layers of clothes that aren't his own and Dean _wants_ that. He works his hands up under his shirt and Cas's skin is so _hot_, nothing like what he's used to; hard where there is usually soft flesh, thickness and muscle and Dean's not sure he's ever been this hard in his entire life.

This close with his mouth on Cas's cheek Dean realises his eyes are open and he can actually see something of Cas. Dean can see Cas's eyes staring back at him, wide and bright and so _old_. Dean can see Cas there and he wants to see more so he presses kisses to Cas's nose and lets his hands find their way to Cas's belt and possibly for the first time ever thinks that Cas's weird staring thing isn't disconcerting at all.

Maybe, actually a little bit hot, because Dean gets to watch Cas's eyes go impossibly _wider_, looking glassy or something, and his breath stutters when Dean's hands brush against Cas's groin.

There's a moment when Dean can't quite believe what he's doing; what he's doing to _Cas_, who last time he checked was an angel, more or less male, and terrified at the very idea of sex. And Cas. And _Cas_ pushing his hips forward like Dean just isn't giving him enough, and his thumbs stroke at the back of Dean's neck, pulling him in to pretty much fuck his mouth with his tongue in a very un-angelic but absolutely _genius_ display of kissing technique.

"Quick learner," Dean breaths into Cas's mouth, grappling with the buttons of both of their trousers because Cas is going to get his hands on Dean's dick too if he has to shove the angel's virgin-ass hands down his pants himself.

Cas pulls away, panting, hands kneading at Dean's shoulders, "I shouldn't know this." He lets out a long breath and Dean wants his lips back, because he can't see anything again and all he has is the feel of Cas's stomach under his fingers and Cas's legs and cock against his thigh. Yeah, okay, that's pretty good, but he wants those _eyes_ and he wants that tongue. Cas pushes at his shoulders even as he pushes himself up against Dean's hands. "I _don't_ know this, Dean."

Whatever that's supposed to mean.

"Cas," he says, or maybe groans, leaning towards where he guesses Cas's face must be. His chin hits Cas's cheek and Dean rubs against Cas's stubble, for the feel and the proximity, his lips brushing lightly down to Cas's ear. "_Cas_," he says again, rocking himself up against Cas's body. "Help me out here, man."

In case Cas is in any doubt what he wants, Dean slides the material of Cas's trousers and underwear down so he get his hands on his cock, wrapping his hands around it, grinding his own against Cas's hip.

At the first touch Cas hisses in a way that doesn't sound entirely human, let alone English, and yeah, fast learner, because then Cas is thrusting his hands into Dean's underwear and grabs hold of Dean like he's a fucking _broom_ or something.

Not that Dean really gives a shit because hands are hands and Cas has gone back to sucking his face off and doing dirty, dirty things with that tongue of his.

They're a mess of arms and hands and it's pretty much impossible to get up a good rhythm with legs and fists in the way but Dean is so _hot_, and all he wants is more, his balls tight and there's that familiar, unfamiliar burn and chill running down his back, down his calves, pooling in his toes. Cas is really giving it all he's got and Dean's pretty much loving how _he_ did that. How he made an _angel_ lose it; made him hump and rut like a human, pressing against Dean, kissing him like his life depends on it. Dean can hear Castiel panting, can feel the heat and sweat on his skin and wishes, _really_ wishes he could see Cas like this.

"Stop," Cas is saying, sighing, copying Dean's movements, learning things angels aren't supposed to. He says, "Dean," like Dean should be able to let him go now, should know how.

Suddenly Dean remembers the torch and realises he doesn't know what he's doing. Cas is hissing like he's in pain and his body feels taut like it's trying to resist something. Dean remembers that he should want to stop this. He doesn't know the consequences for Cas, didn't even care, and that thought scares him more than his hands on another man (sort of)'s cock. More than the way he wants to fuck Cas, and kiss him, and not let him go.

But the _heat_ is so fucking good and all Dean wants is to come.

The thought that Cas _doesn't_ want this though makes Dean's hand lose its rhythm, makes the lust lose its urgency. He turns his head away to try and breathe and feels Cas do the same, the movements of Cas's hands stuttering on Dean's dick. It's almost enough to push Cas even harder against the shelves and just hump against him but then Cas says with relief and urgency in his voice, "It's a demon." And, well, if that isn't an instant libido-killer then Dean doesn't know what is.

"Trying to get us to fuck each other to death?" Dean grits out. He feels Cas huff what might be a laugh and Dean turns his head back to slide lips against Cas's cheek -so he can talk to him better- Dean tells himself. Dean feels himself smile when Cas turns into the touch.

His breath is warm against Dean's ear. "In a way."

Their hands are still then and Dean can feel Cas trying to pull his fingers from Dean's cock. They're both still so freaking hard and Dean has to use every tiny last shred of self-control he has not to push into Cas's hands again. Cas's twitching fingers are _not_ helping.

"Trying to deter us," Cas whispers.

Dean grits his teeth, manages to pull his hands away. As far away as Cas's hips, anyway. "Succeeding," Dean pretty much groans because it's just not _fair_ as Cas's fingers finally, _finally_ pry themselves off Dean.

"I dropped the book," Cas agrees. He's almost breathless. His hands splay against Dean's chest, fist in his shirt.

Dean wants so bad to go back to the kissing and the jerking off that it _hurts_, and it's not like Cas is pushing him away or smiting his ass like Dean knows he can. But this isn't them and there's a demon and Dean wants this _over_.

"You know where the demon is?" Dean asks because he can't see shit and he can't actually concentrate on much more than not trying to hump Cas into next week and the feel of Cas's prickly chin against his cheek, his warm breath against Dean's skin.

"If I," Cas starts, pauses, turns his head so Dean gets a face full of hair. Then, "Concentrate," he finishes, so quietly Dean wonders if Cas said it in his head.

Suddenly, Cas is hugging Dean close, arms around his neck and for a second Dean thinks they're going to get back to the fun. But then he's whispering urgently in Dean's ear and Dean has to try very very hard not to be desperately disappointed and bitter.

"I'm going to destroy it," Cas says, and he sounds _pissed_. His fingers are pressed tightly against the muscles of Dean's shoulders. "Dean, you must not move," he says anxiously.

"I can't fucking _see_, Cas," Dean thinks he should remind Cas and if he clutches at Cas's hips it's not at all because he's afraid of being left alone in the pitch black, creepy-ass library. "I'm not going anywhere."

He feels Cas's nod but then neither of them move and Dean doesn't know what possesses him -except maybe a demon- but if this is going to be his last chance then fuck it, so he slides his hands around Cas's waist, under his shirt and over soft, hot skin, and pushes his lips against Cas's. It's pretty awesome because Cas kisses back, sighing and leaning into him like he wanted this all along. Cas's fingers tighten for a moment on Dean's collarbone and then he is just _gone_. Dean falls forward into the empty space where Cas used to be, where Cas _should_ fucking be, Dean thinks, and winds up banging against the edges of the bookshelves. He grasps hold, feeling his eyes are open but not seeing a damn thing and suddenly he's cold and hot all over like he's got a fever and he wants to curse and hate the fucking world.

There's screeching then somewhere to his right that makes Dean's teeth ache and Dean's pretty sure Cas wouldn't make a sound like that so he supposes that's a good sign. Even so, he feels useless, just hanging onto a mouldy old bookcase because there's nothing else he can do, and it pisses him off.

Then there's a flare of light that burns across Dean's vision and it hurts for a moment, Dean shielding his eyes with his arm. When the sting subsides, Dean looks up and _finally_ he can see something, except he kind of wishes he couldn't.

It's impossible to tell how far away but somewhere there's fire. Dean can smell burning paper, can see the red glow creeping across the ceiling, and it can't be far because he can feel the heat on his face. And shit but his pants are still undone and he does them up hastily, trying not to think about what he'd been doing with Cas.

Dean's pretty sure the Demon's influence is gone though because he doesn't feel as though he needs to fuck or die. And if he kind of wants Cas to come back right _now_ it's because he's worried about the idiot getting into fights under the influence of Demon fairy dust, or whatever it was.

Dean hears hissing and spitting and can't work out if it's the demon or damp leather burning. There's smoke and ash that's starting to make Dean's throat itch and scuffling sounds that must be Cas fighting the demon then there's an almighty creaking, crashing, fire flaring up and ash and dust thrown up into the close air of the library and Dean knows a stack has gone over.

His eyes are starting to water from the heat and the smoke and Dean thinks, fuck it, he's not just going to wait around for Cas to save him. He's not going to leave Cas to some crazy perverted demon either. And Dean is definitely not going to think about what just happened either. Nor is he going to think about how he still _wants_ that. This is neither the time nor the place and Cas is his _friend_. He is going to find that demon son of a bitch and kill it for making him suck Cas's face. Which he is not thinking about. It's just that for all the idiot might be an angel, from what Dean's seen he can be a piss poor fighter at times.

There are really ominous creaking sounds now like the whole place is going to collapse and Dean doesn't think Cas and the demon are helping with that; he hears a body slamming into something which Dean supposes must be a stack, then the sound of wood cracking and breaking and heavy books thudding to the ground. The fire flares brighter and Dean hopes that wasn't Cas.

Whatever it was, Dean quickly part-feels his way along the row Cas left him in towards the sounds of the fight. He draws out his knife and brings his sleeve up to his mouth because the air is getting uncomfortably thick and his eyes are starting to prickle uncomfortably.

The shadows cast from the fire onto the stacks and the ceiling and the floor make it kind of difficult to tell exactly where the fight is but Dean's got a lifetime of experience hunting things so he follows his instincts, hurrying past shelves and shelves, fire growing hotter and sound louder.

He hears a crack like bone and flinches because he's close enough to hear someone cry out, and there's only one thing other than him that's human-like enough to make a sound like that. Dean breaks into a run coughing and rubbing smoke out of his eyes because he is _not_ going to let some bitch demons kill Cas down here. Or anywhere.

Really, he should wonder what the hell he thinks _he's_ going to be able to do if the demon bitches are kicking Cas's ass but fighting monsters way more powerful than him seems to be pretty much standard operating procedure these days.

There's a scream, which Dean is relieved to hear sounds a lot more like a demon, followed by more crashing. Dean watches as the stack in front of him collapses, books tumbling, slamming into each other, engulfed in flames and a grey and red creature flailing about at the centre of the mess.

Rounding the corner, Dean sees Cas lunge at the creature, ignoring the flames like they're nothing but Dean can see his clothes are singed and his face is covered in black soot.

The creature hisses and claws at Cas as he presses fingers to its forehead. The demon writhes, scratching desperately at Cas's arms before gurgling and falling still.

Cas looks up, half-closed eyes frowning when he spots Dean, who waves back amiably and is about to ask what the fuck that thing was when there's a screeching howl and another creature is hurling itself towards Cas.

Running towards Castiel like that, bathed in the yellow and red light of the flames the creature really does look like something straight out of one of those old paintings of hell; wrinkly black skin like heavy tar, creepy red eyes deep set in round, dead-looking sockets. Its limbs are long, bony, with arching claws that clasp out towards Cas. Its teeth are the grossest thing Dean has ever seen, so yellow they're _orange_, chipped and set deep in slimy-looking black gums.

Dean knows that Cas won't be able to turn around in time. He's only just standing up straight, moving to turn, and the demon thing looks so pleased with itself that all Dean wants is to wipe that smugness and _glee_ off its ugly face. He doesn't even think really, just reacts, lobs the knife at the thing and he's so damn _angry_. No way something as twisted as that should ever get anywhere near Cas. And the little shit had the nerve to make him molest an _angel_. If he wasn't already going back to hell Dean's pretty sure he is now, but it's satisfying to watch the demon stumble back as the knife slices into its chest and make a sort of startled gargling noise that sounds like pain and surprise. It reaches up for the knife with sharp, angled arms as something like electricity crackles through its body, tries to take a step forward but its legs give out and it falls forward and Dean is so pleased he thinks he even smiles.

Then Cas says, "There are more of them," sounding unbalanced and breathless. He's staring at Dean with that slightly annoyed frown but he doesn't say anything else. That might have pissed Dean off any other day because _hello_, he just saved the bastard's life but then he really _looks_ at Cas and Cas does not look all that healthy.

There's blood on his face, his lips -crap, not thinking about lips- and staining the collar of his shirt. He's hunched over, holding his left arm awkwardly away from his body like it's broken. Dean remembers the sound he heard, like bone snapping, and really hopes it wasn't _that_.

"Let's get out of here then," Dean says, or more wheezes because, shit, the air is really thin and nasty. He won't be able to survive long in this and Cas doesn't look up to fighting any more demons today so a tactical retreat seems the way to go.

He reclaims the knife, grimacing as the blade slides out of the demon covered in thick, black gooey blood, and he sure as hell isn't putting that back in his jeans so he shoves it down into his boots before moving to take Cas's more normal-looking arm. The idiot isn't to be moving at all. More like, looking around dazedly as though he's forgotten where he is and it makes Dean want to ask if he's okay, even though clearly there's something not right here. All the more reason to get out and away and then never ever think about what exactly happened against that bookshelf ever again.

_Fuck_, but it's hot and smothering and if they don't get out of this tomb of a library soon they're both going to end up burnt to crispy wholesomeness.

Even distracted though and not at his best Cas is strong and stands his ground, immovable when Dean tugs at his wrist, trying to touch skin as little as possible.

Which is really fucking annoying when Cas says, "We have to go back for the book," and it's only the memory of nearly breaking his fist on Cas's face that stops Dean from punching him.

"The hell?" Dean is incredulous, and _pissed_. . "Today's lesson, Cas: Life is more important than books."

"That book could save this world," Cas argues. "We must go back." Which, okay, is a pretty good argument but it's not like the book is going to be of any use to them if they're _dead_.

"You said we shouldn't take it out of here, anyway," Dean throws back.

Cas pauses, thinking. "We shouldn't, but..." He frowns. "It's an opportunity I can't ignore."

Dean wonders at just what shit that book's got in it at the conflicted look on Cas's face.

It's not like he knows which way to go to get back to it anyway.

Cas seems to though, nodding to his right then moving off quickly as though he's come to a decision, which Dean supposes is good enough for him.

Dean keeps hold of Cas's wrist because his eyes are streaming so bad in the smoke he's half blind and he's coughing like a bitch.

He feels it then, past the heat and the heavy air; that prickly feeling of wrongness that you always get with demons. Or maybe it's the smell of hell fire and sulphur even stronger than burning leather and paper and old wood. Dean knows Cas feels it too because he draws Dean closer, speeding up and it's all Dean can do to breathe and not fall over his own feet.

They round a corner. They're moving away from the fire and Dean is glad for that but it's spreading rapidly and there's hot ash everywhere, filling Dean's nose and making his throat hurt.

It almost startles Dean when Cas actually coughs too and he's about to ask what the hell that's about but then there's the invasive, uncomfortable presence of demons so close Dean thinks he can _taste_ it and two of them crawl their way over the stack to their right like some of those creepy ghosts out of a Japanese horror movie. They're the same creatures Dean saw before, with their emaciated black limbs and hollow eyes and Dean's pretty sure they're going to be featuring in his nightmares if he gets out of here alive.

One launches itself at Cas, knocking him to the floor with a smack, his wrist torn from Dean's grip. He actually cries out in what sounds like pain and Dean wants to rip the fucking demon to pieces with his bare hands for that and he really would have tried but the other demon is suddenly in his face and Dean didn't even see it _move_.

Gagging as the smell of rotting and putridity hits him, Dean feels his flesh burn even through his jacket when the demon grips at his arm with bony, long fingers. He tries backhanding it, which seems to throw it off at least, but his own hand comes away hot and itchy like it's been scalded. Which, Dean thinks, is clearly unfair.

The fires are getting uncomfortably close again and the demon is snarling at him and snapping at his face with those long, really unhygienic-looking nails again. Dean looks around desperately for anything he can use to defend himself with because he sure as fuck can't get to the knife in his boot and why the hell did he ever think that was a great place to stash it? He can't take his eyes off his thing, can barely keep out of its snap-happy range, and all he comes up with is one of the big ass books from the bottom shelf of a still mostly standing stack. And, well, it's better than nothing so he hefts it up and _shit_ but it's heavy.

The thing lunges suddenly and Dean uses the book to bat away its claws, feels smug when the demon recoils.

"Broke a nail?" Dean just can't stop himself from taunting, which he really shouldn't have because the demon looks really pissed now and comes at him again.

Dean swings the book as hard as he can, upsides the demon on the side of the head. He's pretty damn shocked when it screams and is knocked a really long way away. Dean looks at the book, looks back at the demon and it's not moving.

He says, "Huh," and really wishes the book wasn't so enormous or he'd take it _everywhere_ with him if it did that to all demons.

Then Cas is shouting Dean's name, half lunging and half falling towards him and as soon as he's near enough, grabs the book one-handed from Dean's hold and turns, actually _throwing_ it at the demon he was fighting.

It's ridiculous, the way the scary murderous demon howls like they've just ripped out its guts when the book hits it full in the chest and the creature is sent hurtling to the floor. It doesn't get up again.

"The hell is that book?" Dean asks, incredulous. Dean moves to retrieve it, because it's not like he's got anything else to defend himself with and he can hear a scratching, shuffling sound behind them that really does not sound good at all. It's probably too big, and too heavy, and it's laying on top of an ugly, shrivelled demonic being so Dean snatches it as quickly as he can and retreats back to stand beside Cas.

Cas says, "A bible," which makes Dean laugh.

"You serious?" Looking at the book it doesn't look like much at all. Dean can't even see a title anywhere and its brown leather bindings are frayed and scratched. Though, the scratches might have been from the demons.

"I am," Cas affirms, then adds, "We must hurry."

Dean nods in agreement. He's sweating heavily and breathing is taking real effort and Dean can see that there are fires breaking out all over the place as hot ash sparks the aged paper to burn. The fires cast weird patches of red shadow on the ceiling that Dean can see now is curved brickwork.

He turns to Cas, thinking to ask if he can't just mojo them out of the library, Cas's precious world-saving books be damned because he really doesn't want to be burnt alive but he pauses when he sees Cas. Gingerly holding his arm, Cas's shoulders are hunched over and he's grimacing, looking confused too like he's not quite sure what's going on. Dean can just about make out bruises on his face and there's blood still seeping from cuts along his brow and cheek.

"Why aren't you healing?" Dean asks, or more like _demands_ because this is a complication they really do not need right now.

Cas looks up at him so miserably then that Dean moves closer, putting his free hand on Cas's shoulder lightly. As soon as he's done it he feels weird because this close Dean can't stop remembering what it's like to have his mouth on Cas's neck and his hands down his pants. Christ. Fuck. He knows. He _knows_ it was some weird demon influence and it's not like Cas is making a big deal out of it. He neither moves away nor leans into Dean's touch, just stands there concentrating on his arm as though he's really _really_ trying to fix it. Which Dean supposes he is. Looking at Cas's arm, it really does look horribly bent out of shape, even through the layers of his jacket and coat. There are more important things to think about right now, Dean decides, and he'll worry about the fact that he still kind of _wants_ and he doesn't want to let go of Cas later.

Cas just says, "There is something here that is... making it difficult."

Dean frowns. "So you can't just get us out of here."

Cas takes a breath, as though he's steeling himself for something, shakes his head then turns away sharply. "We must get that book."

Pulling away from Dean, Cas weaves his way through the fallen stacks, giving the demons a sour look as he passes and Dean follows. Moving is better than staying still he supposes and they are at least heading away from the fires and that scuffling and scratching that Dean imagines is more nasty beastie things.

"It will be impossible to leave the way we came in any case," Cas says, nodding in some general direction to his left. There's fire there too. Cas hesitates before admitting, "There's another way out of here we can take."

And if there is apprehension in his voice then Dean chooses to ignore it.

***


	2. Chapter 2

**_2. A Bishop's Crypt_**

With every step Dean can feel the temperature dropping, and there's no end in sight, not least because there's no light again. Mostly, he's going by feel and guesswork and he hasn't fallen down the narrow, stone staircase yet, or hit his head on the low roof, so Dean's calling it a win. So far.

Bracing himself on the walls either side of him Dean can feel the brickwork crumbling beneath his hands. It's really not encouraging at all and possibly one reason why Cas is leading him at a fast pace. Dean can relate. Being trapped in a stupidly narrow staircase is not his idea of a good tactical position either. Especially when you've got fuck knows how many demons at your back and only one way out. Dean really wants to ask Cas if he's really _sure_ about this and does he actually have any idea in hell about where they're headed?

Then Dean hears a scratching, scraping above him that tells him the demons are following, and he realizes that whether or not Cas knows doesn't make an awful lot of difference. They're committed now.

Even worse, Dean doesn't even have his demon-defeating bible anymore. That was lost in the scuffle to retrieve Cas's precious book, which is a pain in the ass, but Dean's got to admit he's pretty proud of his pitch that sent the book and two demons right through a burning stack. Even Cas raised an eyebrow at him and that's high praise if ever Dean saw it.

So, now Dean's got no flashlight and one demon blood-covered knife which is just about useless when you can't see what you're supposed to be stabbing with it. It does make him feel a little bit better though, shoved back in the waist of his jeans.

He can only just make out Cas's figure out in front of him, little more than shadow lit by the firelight behind them. It's heat; it's reds and yellows fading fast now as the stairs plunge deeper, steeper. The uneven gait is making the descent about a billion times more difficult than it really needs to be and Dean's got to wonder at the crappy workmanship of the people who built the staircase.

There are rats down here too, Dean can hear them, and with his luck Dean's thinks they're probably possessed. He hasn't seen any yet, and for that he's thankful, but it's getting darker and more damp and Dean knows that soon the first clue he's going to get that there's a rat nearby is if he steps on one of the little fuckers. Dean winces and decides it's something he's not going to think about.

He's about given up on the stairs ever ending when Cas slows, his steps silent even as Dean's feet slap loudly against stone and in puddles, and Dean really wishes he knew how Cas did that. Angel thing, he supposes.

When Dean is close, Cas draws to a stop and leans back towards him. Dean tries not to think about the proximity because they. Are not. Like that. Earlier it had just been the demon voodoo magic crap and nothing else. Dean doesn't even want to _think_ about it, because that just brings back things he knows he shouldn't have felt. Doesn't feel. Hasn't ever felt before. Whatever. Not thinking about it.

"There are seven more steps," Cas whispers, right in Dean's ear and Dean just _breathes_. "Then we shall be in the crypt. There will be no light so I will guide you."

There is shifting and shuffling and Dean thinks he can make out Cas trying to move his precious book from one hand to another. From what Dean can hear it doesn't seem to be going very well, and Dean remembers that Cas's arm was broken to bits not long ago. From personal experience Dean knows Cas can take a knife to the chest without batting an eyelid, but his arm certainly hadn't been looking at all healed when they began descending the stairs, and even if he can't see very much Dean can hear that Cas doesn't sound too happy about something.

"You all right?" Dean asks gruffly.

There's a pause before Dean feels the edge of the book pressed against his arm.

Cas says, "I need you to carry this."

"I'll take that as a no." Dean takes the book gingerly because he's not convinced the whole necking incident wasn't at least in part its fault. He can remember warm letters beneath his fingers, the feeling that he could understand the words even if he'd never seen the language before. And then Dean remembers that he's _not_ thinking about that and frowns at Cas.

"You're not healing," Dean states, which Dean thinks is a pretty important thing to discuss, but Cas seems to disagree because Dean can just about make out Cas shaking his head before he says, "We don't have time for this," and then Dean feels Cas's too-warm hand cover his own.

Dean pulls his hand away without thinking because, shit, he's not a _helpless girl_.

"Dude," Dean hisses back. "I'm not holding your hand."

Cas is so close Dean can feel him shift his shoulders and sigh like he's annoyed. He says tightly, "Then hold onto my wrist. I can't watch you and be ready for whatever might greet us down there at the same time."

He taps Dean's hand with his fingers and Dean concedes because, yeah, all right, he doesn't particularly want to get lost in some creepy old crypt.

"You don't know what's down there?" Dean asks. "And, what, you just thought it would be awesome to find out?" Which is just about the worst idea ever if there's something up with Cas.

"I know there's another way out," Cas replies, like that's answer enough. Dean can feel him turn to look back and Dean thinks he might be making a good point because it's not like they can go back and Dean knows it.

Cas tugs on his hand then and Dean follows because the scuffling and scratching behind them is getting louder. The sooner they get moving the sooner they can get out of this nightmare.

It's the Story of Dean's life, though, because things only get worse when the staircase curves around for the last few steps and Dean is plunged into complete darkness. Dean would never admit it, but he's really kind of grateful that Cas thought to grab onto him before they got to this point. It's disorienting and uncomfortable and Dean knows he's tightened his grip on Cas's wrist but he doesn't care if it's a little bit girly because it's _fucking dark_.

Cas moves slowly, cautiously. There's uneven stone and gravel underfoot and Dean cringes at the loud crunching of his steps in the eerie silence that seems to surround them. It doesn't help that Cas doesn't seem to be making much noise at all, and Dean is really damn jealous that Cas can do that. And that he can, apparently, see in the dark. Now if only Cas could do something _really_ useful and freaking glow in the dark, Dean grouses.

Cas pulls him closer, leading Dean around something. Dean reaches out with his free hand to run fingers along the cool edge of crumbling stone, feels indentations and sculpted patterns and suspects it's a tomb.

From the way Cas's wrist keeps pulling away before relaxing, Dean realises Cas must be looking around, and when he pushes Dean back so abruptly he stumbles and falls half against the tomb Dean's pretty damn sure he's seen something.

Dean would love to bitch at Cas for shoving him around but Dean knows when to be quiet and now is one of those times. Cas is moving back, around the tomb, until Dean feels brick against his back and Cas is tense and alert in front of him. He can tell because Cas pretty much has his _back pressed up against Dean's chest_. Dean's beginning to wonder if he's going to need the book to fend off a horny Cas, and if he even _would_, when Cas turns suddenly, moving hurriedly, keeping close to the wall and it's all Dean can do to follow.

It's really not helping that he can't hear anything other than his own footsteps, and the dark is so fucking _oppressive_ it's like someone's dipped his head in tar. He's close to freaking out when Cas pulls him around a corner, puts both hands on his shoulders to lead him up a step and then he's standing on smooth stone and the air feels closer, quieter, like they're in a small room. Dean can't help but think _tomb_ and then Cas leans close to his ear and asks in a low voice, "Are you alright?"

"Wonderful," Dean whispers back. "What was that?"

"I'm not sure," Cas replies. "But it seemed best to avoid whatever it was rather than confront it."

Dean hums an agreement, ignoring the nauseous feeling that he's helplessly floating about in ink, hangs onto Cas's wrist and lets the warmth and the contact assure him that there is still a world, somewhere, with things like light and fresh air and warmth. And then he feels Cas shiver beneath his fingers and there's something just really wrong about that.

"_You_ alright?" Dean asks pointedly- again- remembering Cas's arm and the bruises on his face that he'd never explained.

"I'm fine," he says, sounding about as convinced of the fact as Dean feels.

"And you know where we're going, right?" Dean feels the very strong urge to ask.

"I... do."

The pause is not encouraging.

"Cas," Dean warns, trying to sound stern. "If something's wrong you gotta tell me."

"I told you," Cas replies impatiently. "There is something preventing me from doing... certain things."

"Like healing."

"I have almost healed now," Cas argues.

"Like not knowing where you're going."

Dean hears Cas make a noise that sounds like frustration before tugging his arm, pulling him further into whatever room or tomb or corridor or whatever they're standing in. Cas stops abruptly and Dean hears a scuffling of shoes against a wall. They're backed into a corner, Dean supposes, and when Cas leans close, his voice even lower, Dean knows they are hiding.

He says, "I can see. I know where I want to go, but there are many things here and we have few weapons against them."

He doesn't say, And I have to look after your sorry human ass, but Dean thinks it's very much implied in the way Cas draws his arm against his chest, taking Dean's hand with it.

Bastard.

Dean opens his mouth to argue but then there's a hand pressed against his face and its a lot like that time back in the Green room, except Dean can't see Cas and doesn't know what the fuck's happening. He can only hang on, holding as still as he can, breathing low and quiet and listening.

It's getting colder, Dean thinks, and in that icy-wrong way which he's become all too familiar with over the years: a ghost. A spirit. And he really shouldn't be surprised because this is a _crypt_ they're in. But it is a bit discomforting that Cas seems to think it's something worth hiding from.

Dean's never heard of hiding from a ghost either. But, no salt, no iron, so he guesses it's Cas's call.

They wait there so long Dean's muscles are becoming painfully tense and Cas's hand is still on his mouth, making it kind of difficult to breathe properly and making his chin sweaty. He wonders if Cas would move his damn hand if he licked it, and then he reminds himself that it's _a really bad idea to think things like that right now_.

Gradually, painfully slowly, the cold recedes until it's just your average damp-crypt chill and Dean is glad when Cas relaxes, lowering his hand from Dean's face. They're too close still, just that damn book between them, and Dean is finding it impossible to forget the soft slide of Cas's skin and the way he _kissed_. How does someone who's never kissed before know how to _do_ that? It's just not right, Dean thinks, hoping very much that Cas will hurry up and get them moving again. He wants to ask if this is still the demon's influence. He wants to ask if Cas is feeling it too, but he's scared of what the answers might be.

"We should hurry," Cas says, _finally_, pressing his free hand against Dean's chest, manoeuvring him away so Cas can move out of the corner.

Dean hefts the book up more comfortably under his arm, squeezes Cas's wrist to show his agreement. "You see anything iron you stop and pick it up," Dean suggests, mostly because he's pretty sick of feeling completely useless. Even the super-duper demon-killing knife will be completely useless against ghosts.

Dean can't see it, but he thinks Cas is nodding because then he says, "A good idea," before leading Dean back down the step and turning to the left, following along close to a wall.

They move quickly, turning right, then right again, then left and Dean's beginning to think they're in some kind of creepy labyrinth, but at least Cas seems confident in where he's going so he tries not to be too freaked out. The further they walk Dean guesses from the way the sound of his shoes crunching against gravel seems dampened, closer, the roof is getting lower too, and the walls are drawing in. It's not a nice thought, and he's not thinking about coffins or being buried alive or anything morbid like that. Oh no. Not at all.

Cas stops abruptly then, and Dean almost drops the book, but he's tense and on alert immediately, thinking there's something out in the dark, nearby, that means them harm.

"Stay here," Cas says, trying to pull his hand away and move away from the wall.

And, yeah, "_Fuck_ no." Dean grips Cas more tightly. There is no way in _hell_ he is letting go.

Cas hesitates for a second, putting his other hand over Dean's. "I'm only going to the other side of this passageway," he tries, like it's perfectly reasonable to leave him completely helpless and blind in this fucked up _tomb_.

"Yeah, no," Dean argues, "You're not going anywhere without me." He thinks, anything could happen between the wall to his side and the opposite wall which, for all Dean knows, could be twenty miles away. And if Cas got in trouble Dean wouldn't even know where he was. And anyway, "What's over there you want so bad?"

Cas sighs and Dean thinks it sounds like he's going to give in. Which, just, thank _God_.

"There is iron," Cas tells him. He shakes his wrist in Dean's hand. "I will need my arm to retrieve it."

Dean raises his eyebrows. "Careful, Cas. Sarcasm's gotta be a sin somehow."

"With you Dean, it is a matter of necessity," Cas replies dryly, startling a laugh out of Dean. The sound echoes, loud in the darkness and Dean sobers.

"Iron then," he says.

Cas lifts Dean's wrist, laying his hand on his shoulder. "Yes. Stay close."

Dean snorts. "As though I'm going anywhere."

He feels Cas shift under his hand, turning then slowly leading Dean, to the other side of the corridor he supposes, but he really has no clue, so he shuffles along, afraid he'll trip or something equally embarrassing.

It feels like Cas turns his head towards Dean when he tells him, "There are no obstacles in our way." There's a pause and Dean is about to tell Cas that's easy for him to say, but then Cas takes his hand from his shoulder and presses it against a ledge. It's cool, rough under his hand. "We are here," Cas says. "I will be directly in front of you." Then Cas takes his hand from Dean's and Dean has a moment of panic, feeling nauseous like he's seasick and he imagines being lost in the nothingness forever. He tries to breathe, to get a grip, because it's only a little bit of dark filled with fuck-knows-what and it's not like this is anything new in his life. Even if he can't ever remember feeling this heavy darkness before, this complete not knowing. This crypt, or whatever it is, feels like a place he shouldn't be. Where humans aren't supposed to be. The air seeps supernatural, the smell of magic filling Dean's lungs, and the ice cold and death and decay and _evil_ seeping into his bones. Dean hates it, and he's pretty sure Cas doesn't much like it either.

He thinks maybe Cas reads his mind then or something because he says, "Men built this place, a very long time ago."

There's a scuffling, like the shifting of feet, indistinct noises which Dean supposes must be Cas trying to get at whatever iron he's seen.

"What happened?" Dean asks, more to keep talking, to know that Cas is still there and in one piece rather than out of much interest.

"It was forgotten." There's the creaking of metal and the scraping of brick. "This place has power, and things grew here from that, or were drawn here." He sounds strained, like he's exerting himself.

Dean frowns. "That why you having angel impotency?"

He feels Cas still beside him for a moment and Dean really wishes he could see his face, to know if he even gets it. Then there's a shuffling, thuds like stones falling to the ground, gravel being moved about.

"It is not this place, exactly," Cas replies, finally, and Dean can tell he's _hedging_ and doesn't like it at all. He opens his mouth to ask Cas what the fuck that's supposed to mean when he senses Cas tensing somewhere close by. There's a sudden hiss, growl, painful scraping like claws along brick and then Cas is thrown into him. Dean topples back, scrabbling at the wall beside him, hearing a splash as the book drops to the ground, swearing and _shit_ but Cas is heavier than he looks. Or it could just be that he's fallen pretty much right on top of Dean.

Cas pulls himself off him painfully and Dean has to just breathe for a moment, pulling the knife out from the back of his pants and desperately trying to think of something he can actually do with it that won't involve risking slicing up Cas or himself, not sure that Cas in his current state can just brush off a few accidental stab wounds like they're nothing.

He thinks he hears Cas thumping the whatever-it-is, sure it's Cas because the hit sounds like skin against leather and the creature grunts. It doesn't seem to do much more than piss the thing off though because then he hears Cas gasp in a way that really does not sound good. There's a lot more scuffling and thuds and he thinks someone has gone into the wall then. Cas is breathing hard and the creature sounds mostly like it's _cackling_. Not a good sign.

Dean knows he has to do something; that Cas isn't winning this fight, and he can't think of a fucking thing. He's _useless_ and it's the feeling he hates most in the entire _universe_.

He pulls himself to his feet, at least, pulling at aches that Dean knows are going to be awesome Cas-elbow-shaped bruises, clutching at the knife, wishing he'd given it to Cas, but he just didn't fucking _think_. He didn't realise just how weakened Cas was and he hates himself for not noticing.

None of this is going to do Cas a bit of good though. The fight, Dean can hear, is vicious and there's a lot of what sounds like scratching and biting and there's no doubt that's the demon. It sounds like Cas is holding his own, on his feet for the most part and using his fists and feet and knees, keeping the demon back.

Away from _him_, Dean realises.

It's so fucking infuriating, frustrating, but there's no way he can get the knife to Cas without getting them both killed in the process. He needs something to see by. Anything. Then Cas is hissing in what sounds a lot like pain and Dean starts turning out his pockets. There's nothing in his jeans except some really skanky-feeling tissues, nothing in the back pockets at all. Car keys in his jacket. String. A couple of pins. Bottle top. And then, God, _then_ Dean feels a box, runs his finger along the rough edge and nearly chokes in relief. Matches. Fucking matches. Great for lighting up corpses and for _light_.

It might be a really terrible idea to start a fire down here, but the creature Cas is fighting sounds like it's howling with laughter and Cas is making pained noises. He can hear grappling and as fast as he can Dean pulls the box from his pocket, fumbles with the knife as he tried to slide the matchbox open because he can't _see_, desperate not to drop anything but needing to stop whatever the demon fucker is doing to Cas and _right now_.

He pulls out as many as his fingers can grab at, shifts the box to his knife hand and strikes the bunch of matches sharply against it.

Yellow-red light flares, hot against his fingers, and hurts Dean's eyes for a second, startling after so long in the pitch black. The demon screeches in surprise too and Dean can make out movement, as his eyes adjust; the creature shrinking away from the light or the fire, Dean doesn't know or care. He just knows he doesn't have long, and now he can see, he kind of wishes he couldn't.

The demon, scales shimmering like oil on water in the dull orange glow, is like a thing from a nightmare; a creature with sharp, long teeth and heavy brow and long, bony fingers. Its eyes reflect white and Dean thinks it must be blind. Dean remembers demons like that in hell but never on earth and it freaks him out.

Dean really can't think about that though; can't think about hell, because the demon has its twisted arms stretched out towards Cas and it's clawing at his face, _digging into Cas's face_ and there's blood all down the side of Cas's face and neck and arm. It makes Dean sick, and as soon as he sees it, and realises what he's seeing, he launches himself forward. He knows the matches won't last long anyway so he shoves them into the creature's face.

The demon-thing shrieks and Dean hears Cas drop to the gravel and then all Dean wants to do is rip the fucking monster to shreds. This close he doesn't need to see, he can feel the demon there, body twisting to fight Dean off and sharps nails trying to rake over his face but Dean just thrusts forward, stabbing as hard as he can into its guts. He feels triumph when the creature howls in pain, so he twists the knife, pulls back and stabs again and again. The creature's blood is warm on his hands as it shudders and grasps at Dean weakly. It's like Dean can't stop himself because he wants the fucking thing to _suffer_, so he slashes and he rips at it and it's like riding a bike, he thinks. Even in the dark, it's easy and all Dean can think about is making it hurt for as long as he can. Then, in his madness he hears his name, and it's choked and rough but it's got power behind it, and worry even, and Dean knows its Cas and he has to _stop_.

Quickly, Dean raises up the demon with one hand. The demon gurgles and whines low and Dean drags the blade up its chest until the sharp edge reaches the neck. Then he slits its throat in one swift, practiced motion, before letting it fall to the ground like the piece of hell trash it is.

He just breathes then, remembering where he is and what he's supposed to be doing.

Cas, he thinks. Fuck.

It's difficult to hear anything except the pounding of his blood through his ears and the static, red, blinding memory and sickness in his head at what he was doing. At what he _wanted_ to do. But he knows Cas is near, his breath fast and laboured, hitching in pain, Dean supposes, because he saw where that demon had shoved its nails into Cas's eyes and _shit_ that had to hurt. So Dean drops to his hands and knees and tries to feel his way towards the noise.

Finding an ankle, Dean calls, "Cas," hand following the leg up to Cas's waist, fingers as light as he can because he has no idea what other damage the demon fucker did. They have to get out of here, Dean thinks. If Cas is bleeding to death or something there's nothing he can do and Dean'll be damned if he's just going to sit and watch this stupid, annoying as fuck angel die on him. Dean just _can't_. And Cas had better know it too. "You're not dying on me, you bastard," he tells Cas, and is relieved, _glad_ when he hears Cas huff in what Dean thinks is amusement.

Dean can feel Cas's chest under his hand, breathing strong and even, can feel the movement when Cas says, "I'll be sure to remember that."

Cas doesn't sound like he's at his best, but he doesn't sound like he's going to drop dead any second either, so Dean follows the line of Cas's side to his shoulder so he can pull him up and off of the hard gravel, out of the damp.

"Anything broken?" Dean asks before he moves Cas anywhere. He doesn't like how Cas feels like he's shivering, and when Cas answers that he thinks he's okay, Dean quickly manoeuvres himself to kneel beside Cas, pulling him up against his chest. For warmth. Because it would absolutely suck for an angel to go into shock on him. How would you even deal with that? And then Dean remembers what he saw of Cas's eye, and feels queasy again.

"Can you," he starts. He has to ask. They can't hang around here. Dean can't see, and if Cas can't see either they are well and truly screwed. But the thought of some demon getting his nails in Cas's eyeballs, and there was so much blood, and Dean hopes to Christ that isn't going to be permanent. Almost _prays_ Cas will be able to heal that when they finally manage to escape. _If_ they manage to escape.

Dean tries again. "Your eyes..."

Seems like Cas catches on because he replies, "I can see with one, still." That's good, but.

"Your other eye?"

Cas doesn't say anything, but this close Dean can feel him shifting uncomfortably, tensing. It's answer enough. Dean can't see it, but he reckons Cas is covering the eye with his hand. He knows it's got to hurt like hell.

And it's back to really needing to see again. He's still got matches, shoved back in his pocket, but they won't give him light for long.

"I need something to burn," Dean says, thinking about the book he dropped and left somewhere when the demon pushed Cas into him. It fell into water, Dean remembers so that's probably out anyway, regardless of the way Cas tells him, "No," and starts wriggling like he's trying to stand up.

"Your damn trench coat, then," Dean throws back, teasing, though actually he really wouldn't mind never seeing the ugly thing again.

He almost laughs when Cas seems to draw his coat tighter around himself protectively. "I can make a little light," Cas offers. He doesn't sound sure about it either.

"And you didn't think to tell me that before?" Dean thinks he might be a little bit pissed at that. "I could've stopped that demon from gouging your eye out!"

"My eye is not gouged out," Cas argues. "It didn't seem wise to make our presence so obvious."

Fair enough, but Dean thinks the advantage of him being able to see would have outweighed the threat. Probably.

"Well that worked out great," Dean says dryly. "Light. Now."

Cas sighs heavily, sitting himself up slowly and leaning away from Dean. Dean loosens his grip, lets Cas move. Then he hears scrabbling, like stones being moved about and it goes on for so long Dean thinks Cas must be making some really spectacular stone sculpture or something out there in the dark.

"Sometime this century would be good," Dean says, because it's cold and uncomfortable kneeling on gravel and Cas could be bleeding to death for all Dean knows. Cas certainly doesn't seem stable. His movements are slow and careful and his breathing still sounds a little fast and pained. Could be from the eye gouging, Dean thinks sardonically.

Cas shivers against him. The faster Dean can see the faster they can get moving again. He just hopes Cas can still guide them, one eye down and Dean is fairly certain Cas is getting weaker every minute they're in this god-forsaken place. Which is a pretty fair description really.

Finally, Cas leans back against him. He seems to sway where he sits and Dean holds onto his shoulders more firmly. Feeling Cas shiver again, Dean finds himself rubbing fingers over the fabric of Cas's coat. For warmth, Dean assures himself again, and it seems that Cas appreciates it because the other man leans closer, pressing back into Dean's touch.

If it were any other time this touchy-feeliness would be incredibly embarrassing, but even though Dean knows Cas can see pretty much everything he's doing, Dean finds he doesn't actually care. He wonders if this is the start of another round of molest-the-angel brought about by demons or bad air or whatever the fuck caused them to go crazy over each other up in the library. But this feels different.

Dean focuses on the feel of his fingers as they rub over Cas's shoulder and he's certain he's not doing it because of some demon magic. This is offering warmth and companionship and help and nothing else. There's none of the burning need and lust, like he'd implode if he didn't touch skin and kiss and _feel_. None of the madness. He just wants Cas to be able to heal.

In front of Dean, somewhere close in the darkness, Dean can hear Cas's low voice, words clipped and unfamiliar and Dean wonders if that's what angel language sounds like. There's power there, and presence, and a feeling of ancientness, but it sounds cold. Impersonal. Almost cruel. It's not the sort of thing you'd associate with the fuzzy bathrobe-wearing angels you see on TV, but then, it perfectly fits what Dean's come to know of _real_ angels.

Against Dean, Cas takes a breath and suddenly there is light.

Just like with the matches, it makes Dean's eyes ache for a moment, and he snaps them shut.

He feels Cas shift against him. "You ask for light, and then you close your eyes?" Cas says, sounding faintly incredulous, and even a little amused.

"Shut up," Dean snaps, but he might just be smiling a tiny bit because if Cas has the strength to try for being funny, he can't be that bad off. "I got used to walking around in the pitch black. And it's not like _you_ were any help."

Dean squints, opens his eyes just a fraction and through the blur and the momentary stabbing pain at the initial brightness, he sees the shape of Cas nodding. And then things come into focus, and he opens his eyes wider and sees that he hadn't realised _half_ of what had gone on in that fight.

"_Shit_, Cas," is just about all he can choke out. He doesn't even think, just pulls Cas closer and lays his fingertips lightly against Cas's hand, held close to his face.

"It looks worse than it is, I'm sure," Cas tells him, struggling for Dean to loosen his grip because, oh yeah, Dean can see now. When he looks down, Cas is holding a stone in his hand and it's lit brightly, not like it's glowing, but more like it's got a bulb inside it. The light is dim, a sort of yellow-green, but it's enough to see by. Enough to see the blood covering Cas's hand where he's covering his eye. It's all down his shirt, which is torn and dirty. There are red stripes of blood where the demon must have slashed him, on his arms and his chest and his neck. Black smudges that might be demon blood. Bruises too, on his face, long finger-shapes twisting around Cas's neck that make Dean _angry_. It just all looks so _wrong_.

"Let me see, then," Dean demands, and Cas gives him a sour face but pulls his hand away and Dean frowns, "_Fuck_," because his eye is _mangled_.

Dean can't really even see it properly; it's just thick blood and bloated skin, red raw and heavy with bruising. "It tried to take your eye out," Dean realises.

"It did," Cas agrees. He sounds tired and ill, and Dean really can't blame him.

"I don't know what I can do for this," Dean says, feeling really shitty that he doesn't even have any painkillers on him. He would try and wipe away the blood but he thinks that would just hurt Cas more.

"It will heal." And at least Cas sounds sure about that. "I think it was worse," he adds, and Dean chokes an incredulous laugh.

"How the _crap_ could it have been worse?"

Cas replies, "It doesn't hurt as much."

Dean shakes his head. "That could be shock."

Cas frowns, or at least, Dean thinks he's trying to frown, but he's only got one eye to do it with. "No. It will be fine." Cas pauses then, pressing his hand and the stone towards Dean's chest. "Take this. We should go."

Cas moves to stand up, but doesn't make it very far before he falls back, looking horribly pale in the dim light.

"Yeah?" Dean says. "Going somewhere?" He really can't help teasing, knows he shouldn't but it's like Dean's most tried and tested defence mechanism. Bad situation: make light of it.

Still, they have to _move_, and the other cuts and scrapes don't seem too serious. Cas's eye doesn't look like it's gushing or anything, so Dean nods amiably in reply to Cas's unfriendly face, saying, "Yeah, yeah, I know". Dean tugs Cas's arm around his shoulders, sliding his hand around the other man's back and heaves them both to their feet.

Cas really does sway then, stumbling even, so Dean plants his feet and holds on, letting Cas get his balance.

As Dean waits, it's the first chance he's had to look around properly; to see where they actually are, and he can't help but grimace. When Cas has said crypt, he really had _meant_ crypt.

They were standing in a fairly narrow corridor, walls of old brick that looked dark and black but Dean thought they were probably more red in reality. They looked chipped, falling to pieces. Ancient. The roof above them didn't look much better either. Higher than he'd thought, arching above them, Dean can see the patterns of brickwork through decaying plasterwork.

While one side of the corridor is flat, solid, into the other wall are built alcoves, shelves like Dean had been hanging onto, and on them lie bones, barely a shred of cloth, some so old there's nothing but dust. There's no writing that he can see. No names. Just bodies lined up and left to rot. No wonder Cas hadn't mentioned the rows of dead, and had instead kept them to the other wall. There could be hundreds of miserable, angry, vengeful ghosts, and not even the demon knife would do them any good against that.

At the thought of that Dean looks closer at the alcoves, spotting the metal bar Cas must have been trying to free when the demon attacked him. It looked about as decayed at the rest of the place, but it was iron, and once he had Cas moving he was going to take it himself. He wasn't going to let anything else get the jump on them.

After a few minutes, Cas seems to straighten himself up, and says slowly, slightly breathless, "This is... unpleasant."

"I hear ya," Dean commiserates, pulling Cas closer, making sure his grip is secure. "You gonna be okay to move?"

Cas nods, points their stone-light that Dean never took towards the closer wall. "The book," he says, and Dean sees it, laying in the gravel and dirt, one edge resting in a puddle of water.

They've brought it this far, Dean supposes, so they might as well take it the rest, so he shuffles them both towards it, Cas leaning heavily against him.

"I'll get the iron," Dean says, untangling himself from Cas, propping him against the old wall. Cas offers the stone to him and this time Dean takes it.

The iron comes free quickly, already loosened by Cas. It's pretty crumbly and flaky in his hands but Dean supposes just so long as it doesn't have to hit anything more corporeal than a ghost it'll work.

Returning quickly to Cas, Dean sees that he's got the book tucked under his arm and he's standing against the wall, head bent back, breathing slowly, like he's trying to control the pain. The side of his face is swelling, turning purple and blue. The blood in his eye is turning black, and Dean has to look away.

"They are drawing close," Cas sighs. "The demons from the library." Dean looks up at him and Cas reaches out for help.

The gesture is surprising in the ease with which Cas trusts Dean to respond, in how natural it feels to wrap an arm around his back again and to pull Cas's arm around his own shoulders. That Cas, an angel, would trust like that makes Dean wonder just what Cas thinks of him.

It's awkward to carry Cas, a stone and an iron rod all at once, but he manages, and Cas directs them through what Dean can see now is a maze of passages which seems to slope ever deeper, the air turning colder, damper.

"We're going to get pneumonia at this rate," Dean gripes and beside him Cas nods seriously.

"If it's any consolation, the demons from before will hate this even more than we do," he says. "I brought us into this labyrinth for that reason. And because it will make us more difficult to find."

Dean frowns. "So we're not actually heading for the exit here?"

"We are," Cas says. "Just by a circuitous route."

That makes sense, and Dean nods, even though he wants to be taking the shortest route to warm air and real light they possibly can.

They walk for a time in silence, Dean listening with increasing concern as that scratching, scraping sound from the staircase gets louder, closer, and he knows that the demons from the library are catching up. He pushes Cas, and himself, because his limbs are getting so cold they feel heavy and stiff, and he's thirsty but there is no way in hell he is going to drink anything down here. And Cas. Cas is breathing heavily, still, propped against Dean, stumbling more often, leaning more heavily against him the further they go.

"I thought you were supposed to be healing?" Dean asks finally, keeping his voice low, after Cas trips for what seems like the fiftieth time over his own feet and sighs a shaky breath in irritation.

Cas pulls himself up, gathering himself, and they press on. "I cannot do so many things at once," he answers.

"Like walk and heal?" That doesn't sound very likely, Dean thinks. Especially when he's doing such a piss poor job of the walking part.

Dean sees Cas's eyes fall on the stone in Dean's hand, and then Dean gets it and he is fucking _pissed_.

"You're using all your angel juice for this thing?" He looks down at the stone, light pale but steady, then back up at Cas, shaking his head, incredulous. "Cas, you frigging idiot." Dean really wants to drop him on the ground, beat some sense into him. Except Cas just looks at him with his bruised face, confusion clearly written all over him, and shouting at that? It would like kicking a puppy.

And Dean is not thinking of Cas as a puppy.

"I thought that," Cas starts to say, but Dean cuts him off.

"What? That light for me was more important than healing yourself?"

The look the Cas gives him says that yes, that was exactly what he'd thought.

"_Shit_, Cas," Dean admonishes, shaking his head. Then, more softly, "You don't need the light?"

Cas shakes his head slowly. "I can still see."

The way he says "see" makes Dean think he means more than sight, and that leads him to wonder if Cas was reading his mind when Dean _wasn't_ comparing him to a puppy in his head. Cas seems preoccupied with being clueless though.

"Then turn it off," Dean tells him, and then because it seems like Cas needs to be told. "Heal yourself. We need to move faster."

Dean sees the grimace on Cas's face and Dean really wishes they had time to rest, for Cas to at least regain some strength. But Dean can feel the hairs on the back of his neck rising up and he can hear the demons at their back.

The light disappears without Cas even breaking step and the sudden change makes Dean misstep and almost send them both to the ground. He curses, jostling Cas in annoyance before pulling him tighter again, regaining his grip around Cas's back and on his wrist.

"A little warning, Cas," Dean says in annoyance. He closes his eyes, opens them again, irritated when he can't tell the difference. But if Cas can heal, they can move more quickly, and in any case he's not so much of a bastard that he would want Cas to suffer. He's suffered enough, Dean thinks, and before this whole apocalypse thing is over he knows it can only get worse.

"I am sorry," Cas apologises. "I wasn't thinking." He sounds like he's annoyed at himself too, perplexed like he doesn't know why he did that so Dean reckons it must be the pain or the cold or the blood loss or whatever else might be wrong that Dean has no idea about, so Dean just shrugs.

"Just. Be careful."

Dean feels movement beside him and figures that must be Cas nodding.

Cas doesn't seem to be making any move to start walking again, just breathing beside him, leaning into Dean, shivering.

"Lead the way, then," Dean encourages and Dean is relieved when Cas tugs him towards their left and they are moving again. He's cold himself, the cold and damp of the crypt getting to his lungs and his joints, freezing up his joints and he thinks they both need the movement.

After a few minutes, once Cas has set a steady pace and Dean has grown accustomed again to the complete blackness around him and to relying solely on Cas to lead him and warn him and not let him get his feet soaked in deep puddles, Cas says suddenly, like he's just remembered it, "Hold on to the stone. We may need to fight."

"Okay," Dean agrees. He'd slipped the stone into his pocket without thinking when Cas had first turned off the lights and he shoves the iron under his arm so his hand is free to feel it now, to make sure it's still there, smooth and weirdly warm under his fingers. "But no more fighting for you," he adds sternly. Cas is a mess, and if he loses his other eye they are going to be stuck down in the crypt completely blind.

"I am healing." Cas sounds kind of petulant which makes Dean want to laugh.

"You can see with that eye of yours then?" Dean asks.

Cas shifts uncomfortably in his grip and Dean squeezes Cas's wrist. "Thought so."

The corridor turns, or Cas leads them down a different passage, and then the gradient is sloping upwards.

"Going up?" Dean says. He's weirdly glad at the thought, as if now that they're going upwards they're finally getting somewhere. He's less pleased when Cas says, "We are close to the centre of the crypt now."

"We're halfway? We're only half-freaking-way?"

They must have been down here at least a couple of hours and Dean is really not convinced they can keep up this pace for that long again.

"We have been lucky," Cas tells him, calmly, if a little hoarsely. "I expected more demons and more ghosts. It is the book, I suppose, keeping them away."

"That book." Dean considers. "What would it do to them?"

"It weakens supernatural creatures."

"That demon that attacked you didn't seem so weak," Dean points out.

There's a pause, like Cas isn't quite sure what to say to that, and it makes Dean suspicious.

"It was weakened," he says eventually.

"What else?" Dean asks. Something not right here, he thinks. He's certain that Cas is hiding something, and he doesn't even need to see Cas's face to know it. Cas shifts uncomfortably against him and Dean pulls his closer. "Cas," he demands.

Another long pause, then says replies slowly, "It is powerful, as I said. It is written in our language. There are few books of this kind in existence."

"That's not exactly useful information, Cas," Dean grinds out in annoyance.

"I don't know what you want to know." Cas sighs, sounding put out and pissy. "It is a powerful thing. It can give us an advantage against demons and..."

Cas stops again and Dean can feel his hefting the book in his arm.

"And?" Dean prompts.

"And against angels," Cas says quietly. Dean really doesn't like where this is going.

"Against angels," he repeats. "Angels like you, for example?"

Cas is pretty much squirming against him now and Dean thinks he's going to break Cas's neck because he is an _idiot_.

Cas tries to straighten himself up, as though that's going to convince Dean of anything. "It is not just the book," he pre-empts quickly. "This place has power too."

"So you can't heal."

"I can heal," Cas argues. "It's just taking some time."

Well fuck that, Dean thinks.

"Cas, you are more stupid than I ever realised. You're telling me that book is making it harder for you to heal, we're being chased by a demon horde, and you think it's a great idea to hang onto the damned thing?" He knows his voice is rising, and he should really keep it down, not wanting to attract anymore unwanted attention than they already have, but Cas is just _that monumentally backward_.

"They are not a horde."

"Cas," Dean warns.

"We need the book. After all this, it would be absurd to leave it behind."

"Absurd?" Dean repeats. "_Absurd_? What is absurd is _you_ apparently thinking it's an awesome idea to hold onto it. Why didn't you tell me?"

"It was not relevant," Cas replies, and he says it as though he actually believes that, and that more than anything makes Dean actually, really, truly angry.

"You don't get to decide that, Cas," Dean says. _Tells_.

It's weird, arguing with nothing but a voice and the shape of a body against his side. He wants to point his finger and take Cas by the shoulders and shake some sense into him, except they can't stop, and Dean's not convinced it would do any good anyway.

"I am sick of people deciding for me what I should and shouldn't know." Dean shakes his head. "We get rid of this book and you heal, right?" he asks, scowling at Cas, knowing, hoping at least, that Cas will see it and understand that if he lies to Dean now, there will be blood. More blood. Whatever.

"There is still the effect of this place," Cas protests. "It will not be so easy still."

"But it will be better." It's not a question because Dean knows. He knows that need to protect. To put someone else before yourself, and if there is one thing in this life he does not want, it's someone else doing that, feeling that way, for _him_.

Cas sighs, leaning more heavily against Dean. "It will." He adds quickly, "But Dean, it's not so great a difference. This book could hold the answer as to how to stop this apocalypse."

"Which would mean exactly nothing if we are dead, Cas."

Dean supposes Cas concedes the point because he makes no reply, just seems to curl in on himself, and it feels to Dean as though he pulls the damn book closer, holding it more tightly. Stubborn bastard.

They walk and Dean can tell Cas is making a concerted effort not to sag or lean too much or trip. But Cas's breath speeds up, his muscles tensing and Dean really. Wants. To Slap. Him.

"We're burning it," he grinds out finally because, fuck this stalemate. Cas's arguments suck and he knows it. Them living through this is infinitely more important than just a possibility that maybe the book will help. He's not willing to risk Cas's life, the life of a fucking _angel_ on that off chance.

Cas had died for him once, and Dean is not going to let him do it again. Ever.

Cas starts, softly, "Dean," and Dean knows Cas is not going to stop arguing over this. Will tell him to have hope or faith or that it doesn't matter, except it _does_. Dean doesn't want to consider why Cas's life means that much, but he owes him, and Dean Winchester pays his debts.

"No, Cas," Dean interrupts sharply.

Dean would have taken the book then, set it alight and be glad for it but the air shifts, turning icy, hopeless, like death and Dean knows.

_Ghosts_.

Beside him Cas tenses, pushes at Dean to move them towards the passage wall until they are standing with their backs to it. Dean unwraps his arms from around Cas, leaning him back against the wall, feels cold, crumbling brick, lines of water, soft moss when he presses his hands against it.

Cas whispers, "There are many ahead." He takes Dean's wrist. "You have the iron."

Dean hefts the old metal. "We have to go this way?" he asks.

"Yes," Cas replies simply.

"I can't see," Dean reminds him, because he feels kind of ridiculous brandishing the iron against the darkness. All he knows is that there are spirits close by, their presence marked by that depressingly familiar feeling of despair. It's strong, maybe stronger than Dean's ever felt it before and he doesn't doubt that there are not some small number of ghosts ahead of them.

"I am aware," Cas says. "We are coming to the centre, and I believe that is where the ghosts will be. There will be some light there."

"You didn't think to mention this either? That we were on our way to face half the cast of Ghostbusters?" Cas really needs to learn to _tell_ him crap like this.

"I had hoped the demons would have... scared them away."

Because, oh yeah, demons behind them.

Wonderful.

"I don't even know how that's supposed to work," Dean says, shaking his head. "You have any more brilliant plans?"

"We can use the book."

Dean clenches his hands more tightly around the iron at the mention of that damn book.

"The book that's killing you, you mean?"

Cas's grip on Dean's wrist loosens and Dean hears Cas sigh wearily.

"It isn't killing me, Dean," Cas replies, sounding exasperated.

Dean hums, unconvinced and they really don't have time to argue this because there are demons closing in on them and that is just not a happy thought.

"So, what, we throw the book at them? Wave it about?"

Maybe he's being difficult when he really doesn't need to be but Cas totally deserves it, Dean thinks. Cas really needs to learn that amazing thing called communication; actually possibly telling him what the hell they are doing once in a while.

Damned mysterious angels and their mysterious plans.

Cas nudges an arm against Dean's side, like he knows exactly what Dean was just thinking. "They should keep their distance, if we remain close," he tells Dean.

"And if they don't?" Dean asks.

"You have the iron and I think I can still dispel them."

He really doesn't sound too sure about that.

"Cas," Deans feels he needs to point out. "This is a really bad plan."

Cas nudges at him again, like he wants to move and he wants to move now, and Dean wonders if maybe it's the demons getting closer that's making him all antsy.

"It isn't ideal," Cas admits and Dean thinks, understatement of the year. "But we have little choice. The demons will be upon us soon and I would prefer to face the spirits of the dead than _them_."

Dean is willing to admit, he makes a fair point. They can't go back and Dean can't see another way out of this.

"Forward then," Dean agrees.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**_3. "A Demon Who Lights Strange Lights Above Tombs of the Dead"_**

What Cas calls the centre of the crypt is, from what Dean can tell, a really fancy graveyard. The roof is made up of a series of high domes, supported by what were once probably intricately carved, thick, square columns that look to Dean like they've been taken straight out of some gothic horror movie. Dean can see a theme here.

Between the columns, he can make out old headstones, statues and tombs scattered about haphazardly. Some are just plain stone slabs with grooves that had once been names. Some are grand, tall sepulchres with intricate carvings of gargoyles and angels and other more random stuff. Like ships. Dean kind of likes the ships, and would have pointed and laughed at the angels if there hadn't been angry, restless-looking ghosts on all sides.

Cas walks ahead of Dean, to his left, leading the way with the book wrapped tightly in his arms. Dean stays close, grip tight on the iron, wary, watching the ghosts shift and glide, sliding around them like fog but never getting too close.

Somehow there's light, from windows in the roof Cas had said, but Dean can't see any windows and they're so far underground he doesn't get how that could ever work.

What light there is reaches across the graveyard, diffused and so dim it's hard to see anything clearly. It makes the tombs and the ghosts and the shadowed ceiling and pillars even more eerie, which Dean thinks is a pretty impressive achievement seeing as the whole place feels just _wrong_.

Dean is glad for the light anyway, however crappy. After so long in the dark he's pretty ecstatic about being able to make out shapes again.

Beside him, Dean can see the outline of Cas's face. He's not leaning against Dean anymore, but Dean keeps within reaching distance because Cas is still kind of unsteady no matter how much the idiot angel says he's okay. Even if Cas is more stable now, the light is enough that Dean can see the ugly bruising, purple and yellow like it's days old, spread across Cas's face. While the swelling that Dean saw before is almost gone, Cas's eye is red-black, scabbed over in parts and Dean guesses that there's no way Cas can open it. He hopes the eye is in one piece at least.

Losing half his sight doesn't seem to faze Cas much though. He keeps shooting Dean concerned glances then looking back the way they came, his mouth drawn into a thin line. Cas can still see in the dark and he doesn't look happy. They need to move faster.

Whatever Cas can see that's making him jumpy though, Dean knows the demons are getting too close because they aren't exactly being quiet about it and Dean can feel his blood warming as he watches Cas move and as he sees the curve of Cas's neck. Dean wants to take a hand-full of his hair.

Shit.

They're trying _that_.

_Again_.

Dean would really like to know if there's any way Cas can stop it, but there's no time to ask because the ghosts are getting more restless and more _angry_. They're either frustrated by Cas's book or the proximity of a bunch of crazy sex demons and Dean doesn't really care which. He just knows they have to get moving, so he picks up the pace and presses close up against Cas's side. For safety, Dean tells himself. Strength in numbers. In case Cas wanders off. Or something.

They wind their way past the tombs and around blocks of stone and brick that get in their way. Dean keeps his eyes trained on the ghosts, swings at them when they stray too close, and keeps Cas as close as he can.

Ahead of them Dean can see a doorway set into the wall like the one they'd come from. It lead down into darkness again and Dean grimaces because that's the way they seem to be headed and he's definitely up to his limit for walking around in the pitch black for one day. Or possibly for the year. It doesn't feel right either. Something about that dark passage feels wrong and all of Dean's instincts are telling him going that way is an epically bad idea. Almost without thinking he slows. Cas gets a little ahead so Dean grabs at his coat to pull him back.

"This isn't a good idea," Dean tells him.

Cas frowns, looks towards the doorway ahead of them, then behind them.

"We can't stay here, Dean." Cas is shifting anxiously, uncomfortable with standing still.

"No kidding," Dean hisses back. "But I don't like this." He nods towards the doorway and the dark beyond it seems dangerous. Burning, Dean realises. He can smell burning. And then Dean notices the ghosts. They're drifting back and forth like they're trapped and at the same moment Dean sees Cas's eye go wide.

"They _surrounded_ us," Cas says, sounding more offended than anything because these are demons they're dealing with and surely they aren't that clever. Except, apparently, where they are.

"There's gotta be other ways out of here," Dean suggests hopefully. The light is so poor he can't really make out much of the far walls but he thinks he can see other paths and doorways.

Cas glances around, shaking his head. "I'm not... sure."

That does it. They can't stop here and the ghosts are shifting closer and Dean knows from the noise and the smell of sulphur that they don't have much time.

"We burn that book, then. You get us out of here." Dean digs into his pockets to find his box of matches and sees Cas hug the book tightly against his chest.

"It's not that easy," he argues. "It would take time for me to recover and in that time the demons will come anyway."

Dean growls in frustration. "This is why you _tell_ me this kind of thing, Cas. In advance." He would probably be more pissed, burn the book anyway just because, but the prickly heat of the demon's influence is warming his skin and making him feel weirdly fuzzy and affectionate towards Cas and it's fucking annoying.

"I _hate_ liking you," Dean huffs and can't help smiling when he hears Cas laugh, once, not much more than an exhale of air.

"I hate liking you too," Cas agrees fondly, which is all Dean needs to hear to know they're in trouble here.

They need to move, badly from the way Cas is fidgeting, so Dean takes Cas's arm and turns them so they're making their way deeper into the cavernous room rather than straight across it.

"Pick a different door. We'll hide out," Dean orders. Cas nods, opens his mouth to speak but then stops suddenly, his face shifting into a frown that looks almost afraid. Dean wants to ask him what's wrong except then he sees it then: the demons, emerging from the doorway they'd been heading towards. The demons spill out, weaving their way through the tombs towards them. Dean grips Cas's arm tighter, feeling Cas tense beneath his hand and ignoring the warmth and need and want at the touch. It's not that hard, Dean finds, when you have a horde of ugly-ass demons heading your way.

He breaks into a run, drawing Cas along with him, heading deeper into the maze of tombs, to where they're bigger, grander and Dean's only thought is that they could work for hiding behind. Although what use that's going to be he's not sure, but right now he's mostly concerned with them both surviving the next few minutes.

Moments later there's an ear splitting screech and out the corner of his eye Dean can see more demons emerging from the passageway they'd come from. Dean thinks, oh yes, his day just keeps getting better and better.

The ghosts are frenzied, pressing in so close Dean's teeth are starting to chatter from the cold of it and knocking him sideways as they rush past. Cas grabs at Dean, stops him falling over and doesn't let go, hand gripping in Dean's jacket. The ghosts are giving Cas a wider birth, which is probably because of the book, but maybe also because Cas is still Cas and has at least some of his angel-ness left in him. Cas is muttering weird shit under his breath and Dean feels the words like warmth. He thinks he remembers them, sliding under his fingers, alien symbols that were so familiar.

Still murmuring, Cas pulls Dean down a narrow path between two tall, black-stoned tombs and they're plunged into shadows for a moment before they emerge out the other side, turn down another path, and Dean notices that gravel is making way to stone under his feet. The tombs are getting bigger with some as big as cars, taller, with pillars and carvings and statues. There are fewer ghosts now, which Dean figures is Cas's doing but behind them the demons are closing in still. Dean can hear their feet and claws scuffling over the ground. He turns back for a second and sees them climbing over tombs, snapping and hissing at each other, red eyes on him and Cas with their arms outstretched. They don't look too happy. Maybe they don't like how their library went up in flames. Dean feels kind of pissed off at that because it's not like it was _his_ fault.

And, shit, but Cas's hand on his arm is so good and his half-panicked, half-flustered look is so _hot_ it makes Dean want to kiss it.

Demons, Dean reminds himself. _Demons_. So he doesn't grab Cas and kiss the life out of him and he doesn't reach for him and touch him and watch him lose control. He runs faster and knows it's not enough. They're winding their way down paths, around tombs, under great covered walkways and the demons are still gaining. There's less light here but Dean can tell the roof is getting lower.

Then Cas turns to look at Dean, and Dean sees this weird mix of want and fear on Cas's face before a demon barrels into them. Some bastard demon must have been hiding somewhere in the shadows and then dived for Cas, taking him down hard and pushing Dean out of the way. It's scrabbling at Cas for the book, scratching at his arms and Dean is swinging at its head with the iron before he even realises what he's doing. The demon screams and rolls away and Dean is darkly satisfied when it doesn't get up.

Dean moves to help Cas up, Cas's arms looking torn to shreds but still holding onto the book like their lives depend on it, when Cas looks up behind Dean and shouts, "Dean!" and then Dean knows to swing around, knocking down another snarling demon.

He only gets to feel victorious for a half-second before he looks over and sees how close the demons are, how many there are, how fucking _dead_ he and Cas are.

Then, the horde really is upon them. They bite and scratch and Dean can smell their stench, like rotting, and their breath, like the hellfire and sulphur Dean likes to pretend he doesn't remember the taste of. Pulling out the knife Dean stabs at the nearest demon, catches it dead centre in the chest and it howls, stumbles back and is replaced by another. In the confusion and frantic fight Dean can't tell where Cas is anymore and it freaks him out. He needs to know he's all right because all Cas has to defend himself with is that asshole book and his currently pretty pathetic angel power. Dean's got the knife in one hand and the iron in the other and he thinks he's making a pretty good job of staying alive as he slashes and swings and keeps the demons and their claws and teeth away from him.

He doesn't like that he can't even hear Cas at all over the wailing and screeching so he tries calling out, "Cas!"

Three demons go for Dean's neck so he twists away, trying to squeeze down a narrow path between two crumbling, high-faced vaults where he hopes they can't follow. He gets no reply, so he shouts again, "Cas, where the fuck are you?"

Nothing.

Dean curses, turning a sharp corner into a weird covered pathway. He runs the short length of it and even though his arms ache and he's panting for air Dean knows he can't stop.

Out the other side of the pathway there are demons lumbering their way towards him, scrabbling at each other down the narrow space between tombs, desperate to be the first to get to Dean by the looks of it. For probably the only time in the history of ever Dean is glad for the complete self-interest and single-mindedness of demons.

Quickly looking around, Dean sees a low-walled tomb just ahead. He practically throws himself at it, levering himself up on to its roof and its really not fucking easy when your hands are full and there are demons snapping at your ankles. Dean knocks a demon away from him with a swing of the iron. The creature falls back into the pack of demons scrabbling to climb up after Dean, hopefully crushing some in its fall, but at least causing confusion and, from the screeching and tearing sounds, a fight.

From his vantage point, knowing he pretty much has no time, Dean scans the area, squinting in the crappy light and just a couple of tombs away he sees Cas backed up against a vault wall. He looks a mess -bloodied but determined- but he's still alive and that's about as much as Dean can hope for right now.

Cas's arms are outstretched, palms flat, and the demons around him are taking pot shots; lashing out then withdrawing before Cas can burn the fuckers back to hell. He hasn't got the book anymore.

Good fucking riddance.

Dean shouts over to him, "Cas!" and wants to kick himself when Cas looks up and one of the demons takes that as an opportunity to bite right into Cas's outstretched arm.

Dean can see Cas grimace before turning his hands on the demon and Dean watches with satisfaction as the demon writhes and screams and _burns_ as it gets toasted.

"Stay there," Dean calls, kind of pointlessly because there are a lot more demons around Cas than there are around him and there doesn't seem to be anywhere for Cas to actually go.

His own demon gang are almost on Dean now anyway, crawling up slowly behind him as though they think they can take him by surprise. Dean takes one swing at them before breaking into a run, jumping the short distance onto the next tomb roof. There are demons there too, but the bastards don't expect it when Dean throws himself at them, burying the knife in one's head and tackling another. A third gets a claw somewhere across Dean's shoulder and it _stings_. In anger, Dean jams the iron behind him, impaling the demon with it. He doesn't have time to stop and deal with the damage or worry if it's dead, he just needs to get to Cas.

And Cas is shouting, "Hurry up, Dean!" like Dean is loitering on purpose or something.

Damned demanding angel, Dean thinks, dodges more creatures who stare at him with red eyes and growl at him with black and yellow sharp teeth. More than trying to kill them, Dean is having a hard enough time trying to keep their claws out of range. Dean's shoulder and back feel like they're on fire as he drives forward, slashing wildly.

The last few feet are going to be the most difficult, Dean realises. The demons are hemming Cas in on all sides and Dean's going to have to get through a whole lot of them to get to him. Cas's face looks pinched, still discoloured by bruises turned now to blotches of yellow and blue, his mauled eye still red and black and painful-looking. Cas has only one arm outstretched now, his other cradled close to his chest and bleeding. He's chanting or praying or something and the demons are snapping at him and covering their heads like the very sound of his words is painful to them.

Dean hesitates for a second, unsure what to do next. It's a stupid hesitation that costs him because then he feels a sharp pain in his left ankle. He looks back, automatically swinging the iron. It comes up against resistance in the form of a demon creature gnawing on his foot. The thing doesn't let go so Dean swings again, smashing its head in. The thing dies instantly without a sound and its jaws still clamped around Dean's ankles so that he has to kneel down and pry its jaws from his own leg.

Once free, Dean looks up and swears when he sees a whole bunch more approaching. He thinks he might as well just turn around and throw himself down into the throng around Cas, see if he can't just fight his way tooth and nail towards Cas because there's nowhere else to go and no other way to get to him.

Then, suddenly, there's a high-pitched sound that's deafening and makes Dean's ears feel like they're about to burst. Dean tries pressing his hands against his ears, squeezing his eyes closed as though that might keep the sound out. Then he realises, this is Cas's true voice.

Dean forces his eyes open to the sight of demons writhing in agony, tearing at their heads and faces.

Cas is doing the creepy unblinking staring thing and his lips are moving but it's not words he's speaking as far as Dean can tell. Cas is looking at him, his eyes wide, like he's trying to tell Dean to hurry up which is an idea Dean can get behind because _shit_ his ears hurt.

Dean presses his hands tighter against his head, feeling like his brain is about to bleed out of his ears. He jumps down, not really caring that the tomb he's standing on is probably too tall to jump from safely but there is no way in hell he's taking his hands off his ears.

Unsurprisingly, Dean lands awkwardly on his feet. His muscles pull and his knees hate him but mostly Dean manages to stay upright and not land on any demons. There's warmth in his ears and Dean knows it's blood, remembers it from those times Cas spoke to him with his angel voice of doom before they'd even met and all Dean could do was curl into himself and wish for it to end.

Now though he doesn't have that luxury. Dean makes himself stand up straight and around him the demons' eyes pretty much bulge right out of their sockets as they claw at their own heads and screech and that is really not helping.

Ahead of him, Cas turns towards the tomb and starts painting symbols onto its side with blood that Dean guesses is his own. Cas looks back, frowning at Dean, and Dean gets the message. He navigates his way quickly around the demons. Some of them try to reach out to him, grabbing at his ankle and lashing out, but mostly the fuckers are too out of it to do much of anything at all.

It isn't that much better for Dean.

The closer he gets the more he feels like his head is going to split open, but Dean keeps going because as effective as this is he doubts Cas can keep this up forever. Or that his brain can last much longer.

As soon as he's at Cas's side the noise and the pain stops abruptly and for a moment Dean is disoriented, the world reduced to the sounds of his own breathing and his own blood pounding through his head. He feels someone, Cas, pulling at his arm and he follows because he's dizzy and feeling kind of like he's going to puke his guts out. A hand presses down lightly against his head so that he has to duck down and then Cas grips his arm tightly, preventing Dean from falling over when he stumbles against a step. Dean steps up and lets Cas push him down into a corner and then the touch is gone and Dean just sits with his head in his hands trying to remember which way is up.

He doesn't know how long it takes, but slowly -painfully slowly- the dizziness passes and the world rights itself and Dean can finally breathe. Dean pulls his head up, meaning to find Cas and tell him to never _ever_ talk to him with his true voice again, but he opens his eyes to pitch black. Again.

The air smells stale and dusty and Dean really hopes he's not where he thinks they are.

"Cas?" he calls, annoyed when his voice comes out husky, cracking like he's been shouting.

He can hear the shushing of Cas's coat as he moves around somewhere close by.

"I am here, Dean," Cas says.

Noise is muffled, like Dean's got his head buried in a mound of pillows, but he can hear well enough. Cas pauses in whatever he's doing and when he speaks again his voice sounds closer. "And I am sorry."

Dean is going to ask what exactly he's sorry for when he feels cool fingertips come to rest gently against his left ear.

Dean shrugs. "It was a good plan. Hurt them more than me." Which makes Dean wonder, "And why exactly didn't you do that before? You know, when you were getting your eye gouged out?"

Cas's thumb rubs drying blood away from Dean's ear and it feels like apology. "Because it would hurt you," he replies simply and then he sighs and the touch is gone. "We don't have much time."

Shoes scrape against the stone floor and then Dean hears hurried shuffing noises. "We're in a tomb, aren't we?" Dean knows the answer but he thinks he should ask anyway. There is cool, smooth stone at his back and he doesn't want to move too far for fear of coming across a corpse. Or a skeleton, Dean supposes, as there is nothing of that sweet, putrid rotting-corpse smell you come across with disturbing regularity as a hunter.

Dean can hear scratching, something like muffled growling and scraping and thinks it's coming from somewhere outside. The demons, Dean thinks, trying to get in.

Cas says, "We are," seeming wholly unconcerned about that fact.

"Dude," Dean points out. "A tomb? Really?"

"Our options were very limited." Cas's voice is further away, echoing from the other side of the tomb. It's not that big, Dean thinks, but is probably tall enough to stand up in, and long enough to lie flat with lots of room to spare. "There are no human remains here, if that is what concerns you."

Dean thinks it bears mentioning again. "We're stuck in a _tomb_."

"It was a tactical retreat," Cas replies. He sounds kind of prissy, Dean thinks, amused. "The remains are above us."

Dean snorts, "That's comforting." When Cas makes no reply, Dean reminds him, "Ghosts?"

"I am drawing sigils to keep them out. The demons too."

It's then that Dean realises he doesn't have the knife. "Cas," he warns. "Please tell me you aren't slashing your wrists open over there."

"I am not slashing my wrists open," Cas says flatly, and while Dean's pretty sure it's not an out-right lie it's probably only a half-truth.

"Uh huh," he replies. "Then you can give me back that knife."

"In a moment, Dean." Cas sounds crabby, and okay he's possibly justified in being kind of moody because both of them really are having a pretty shitty day. Now the adrenaline and the overwhelming pain in his ears is fading, Dean is starting to _feel_ just how bad a day he's been having too. His knees ache, the skin of his ankles burns unpleasantly and his back stings. There's a dull ringing in his ears and his head and a heat somewhere deep in his stomach that makes him groan.

"That is why," Cas tells him, "I must hurry with these sigils."

Dean can feel his fingers twitching already, wanting to find Cas and get all over his skin. The need to touch is distracting, building faster than he remembers it from before. They're angry, Dean thinks. Cas just had to go and piss off the crazy pervert demons.

"Right," Dean agrees, "Before we start with the death-by-groping thing again."

Cas doesn't reply but Dean can hear him moving faster, with more urgency, doing whatever he's doing and Dean really wishes he could help. In darkness, he's useless again and all he can do is sit there and think about Cas, and Cas painting his blood on the walls, and Cas's bare arms, and Cas's pursed lips as he concentrates, and Cas and Cas and Cas...

Before Dean even realises he's moving, he finds himself groping around in the dark, reaching out with his hands, and he doesn't care that his ankle hurts so much it's fucking agony to put weight on, or that he can feel too much warmth and an uncomfortable prickling all down his back. All he cares about is getting his hands on Cas, under his coat, in his hair. Wherever. He's really not picky.

At the first touch, and it's Cas's shoulder Dean finds, the fabric of his coat feels like silk under Dean's fingers.

Cas hisses, "Dean, _sit back down_."

Dean would love to, he really would, except he can feel Cas trembling. Then Dean _has_ to stroke his hands over Cas's shoulders and down his sides. Dean presses his face into the back of Cas's neck and kisses him there. Cas smells of sweat and dust and there is nothing, Dean thinks, _absolutely nothing_ that is going to stop him now. He knows he shouldn't. _Mustn't_. But his fingers and his chest are on fire with the desire for Cas, and it's so _strong_.

A part of Dean knows this is the demons doing this to him. He knows that any other day, any other time, he would never run his tongue along Cas's skin just so he could know the taste of it. He would never have reached his arms around Cas's chest, laid his hands flat against his shirt, pushed his fingers into the spaces between buttons to get at bare flesh. It's wrong, Dean knows, as he slides himself closer so his chest is flush against Cas's back and Cas must be able to feel how turned-on this is making Dean. Dean's not sure he's ever been so hard in his entire life, like he's feeling years of lust and want all at once. Or maybe it's just from these last few months he's known Cas. Dean realises he's come to want Cas for being everything Dean isn't; something Dean doesn't deserve. It's confusing and annoying and it makes Dean angry because he can't tell and he can't remember what is him and what is demon-induced. The burning desire to fuck Cas into the wall -that's pretty obvious- but he's kind of grown attached to Cas too. He'd miss Cas if he wasn't there.

Dean remembers how angry and fucked up he was when he thought the angel had gone and died on him. He doesn't mind when Cas touches him, which is rare, but still, Dean doesn't mind. Dean kind of likes having him around even, sometimes. Maybe. And Dean thinks this must be what friendship is like.

But all of it, all this stupid Sam-like girly feelings crap, makes Dean freaking mad because he doesn't _care_. There are demons outside trying to get in and Cas is trying to save them and all Dean can do is kiss behind his ears and smooth his fingers over Cas's waist and under his shirt. Cas is trying, still painting on the wall in stilted movements.

As Dean's hands slide over Cas's chest, Cas pushes back, then snaps away as though he didn't mean to do that and oh _God_, the friction.

Dean thinks he hears Cas say his name, feels the low sound of Cas's voice and breath. Dean's hands are pressed close and tight to Cas and Dean can't stop mapping out his body. Vessel's body. Whatever. He likes it and Dean holds more tightly when Cas tries to arch away.

This is so much worse than before, and _so much better_. The desire is so intense it makes Dean ill to think of _not_ touching Cas, so he doesn't think that. He just lets one hand rub at Cas's stomach and down and yeah, Dean smiles into Cas's hair, knows Cas wants this or needs this or at least is feeling this because Cas pushes his hips forward into Dean's hands and _growls_.

Like before, Dean wishes he could see Cas. He wants to see his face and how he looks when Dean touches him like this. Dean wants to see what Cas looks like when he loses all that angelic control and that Spock-like stoicism that sometimes makes Dean want to smack Cas upside the head.

This is definitely cool too though, Dean decides, and shapes his hand around Cas's groin. If he doesn't get to see, he at least wants to _hear_ something.

He gets a sharp exhale of air and a "Dean" and when Cas tries to speak, starts to say, "Dean, we have to stop," Dean trails his other hand up Cas's throat and twists himself around so he can kiss and lick at the skin under Cas's chin. It's prickly and Dean tastes blood, but he sucks and bites harder when Cas tries to argue, "Dean," and "The _demons_." He slides his fingers across the rough edges of Cas's cheek to run along Cas's lips. They're dry and Dean wants to wet them with his tongue. He will, Dean tells himself, and busies himself mouthing kisses along any part of Cas's neck he can get to. He feels Cas push back against him, making a half-aborted movement to push himself further into Dean's hold on him. Dean can feel Cas inhale and knows the idiot is going to talk again so he presses two fingers into Cas's mouth.

Cas goes still, breath fast and warm across Dean's fingers and Dean rubs a hand along the shape of Cas's length through his pants and sucks on Cas's ear and down the line of his throat.

Cas shivers, relaxing slowly and letting himself lean back against Dean's chest by increments and then Dean feels the tentative touch of tongue against his fingers and he thinks, I've won, and fuck, the demons have won. He doesn't want it to be like this and at the same time he wants it more than anything. And Cas is _groaning_. Dean can feel the vibrations of the sound against his fingers. It makes thinking kind of hard, then impossible when Cas turns his head around, taking Dean's hand and drawing Dean's fingers out of his mouth. Cas kisses them, kisses Dean's forehead and then Dean's eyes when Dean raises his head to meet him, searching for lips. Dean grabs the back of Cas's neck with wet fingers so that he can kiss him _properly_ and gets kissed right back with a lot of tongue and lips and _teeth_.

Dean doesn't want to breathe. He doesn't give a fuck that his knees feel like someone is trying to rip the skin from the bone, and Dean knows what that feels like. All he cares about is heat and want and _Cas_, there, with him. Dean knows this is going to be _awesome_.

Cas whispers Dean's name into his own mouth and it sounds almost sad and Dean is determined to put a stop to that shit right now. But then Cas pulls away, still close enough that Dean can smell him and touch him, but Dean can feel Cas's arms stretching towards the wall. There are soft words he doesn't recognise, movement he can't see. Dean makes to follow Cas -find his lips again and get his hands back on Cas's body- when suddenly it's like someone has dumped a bucket of cold water over his head. The heat and the need are just gone, and all that's left is cold.

Dean's fingers feel like ice, his thoughts sluggish, and then Dean starts feeling pain down his mauled back and in his twisted ankles. His entire body _aches_ and he feels light-headed and nauseous. Dean's kind of glad he feels the pain, because the only other thing to feel is the gnawing, gut-deep guilt at what he just tried to do. At what he was just doing to Cas. Their bodies are still so close, enough that Dean can feel the rapid rise and fall of Cas's chest as he breathes, and he's not saying anything.

And why should he? Dean was just trying to get into his pants and he didn't even care whether Cas wanted it or not. There was only the heat and the lust and Dean had just given into it. He'd just given in to those fucking demons and he hadn't cared. Because he'd wanted it. He'd wanted it. And even now Dean's still thinking of the softness of Cas's skin and the dryness of his lips. How do you apologise for that? How do you tell an angel you're sorry for doing things like that, like _humans_ do. Like sick, twisted bastard humans who get off on power and who can only think of their own fucking pleasure. How do you apologise and convince them that you didn't mean it when you did?

The only thing Dean can think to do is to draw away, moving back on his hands and knees, finding the wall with his hands and crawling over to the other side of the tomb. Dean closes his eyes, presses his back against the cool stone, feeling sick at himself and the demons and the entire world. He hears Cas move, like he's sitting down, hears him sigh.

Cas says, "Dean," and it's so soft it makes Dean angry. Because there is no way Cas should be forgiving. Not for this.

Dean can't let Cas be kind. Not now.

"You stopped them," he says, in case Cas is going to do something stupid like tell Dean it's okay or it wasn't his fault or it doesn't matter.

Cas is silent for a moment and Dean is worried that he's going to say all that shit anyway but then he replies, "Yes. I completed the sigils."

The pain and abuse of the past few hours is really settling in now and Dean knows he's still breathing too fast and his fingers feel like they've got pins stuck in them they're so cold. He wonders if Cas feels the same.

On the other side of the wall Dean can hear the demons scratching against stone. They sound really pissed, Dean thinks.

"They can't get in?" Dean asks, because it's better than thinking about how the hell they're supposed to get out of _this_ one.

"No. Neither they nor their influence," Cas says carefully. "Dean," he starts.

"How long will they last?" Dean interrupts. He knows enough about this crap to understand the sigils won't hold the horde off forever.

"They will hold for several hours," Cas tells him dismissively, starting to sound irritated.

It's getting really hard not to think they're going to die in a tomb, in fuck-knows-where, buried alive. And it's really hard not to be grateful that for just a few minutes Dean knew what it was like to kiss Cas. Which is beyond messed up.

Dean knows he can't last long anyway without food and water but he doesn't know about Cas. He remembers they've lost that pain in the ass book, which is kind of sucks because they've gone through all this crap for absolutely nothing. But maybe without it Cas will get his mojo back. Only one way to find out.

"Great," Dean says. "You gonna be able to get us out of here without that book superglued to you?"

Dean really wishes he could see, anything at all, because he hears Cas shift and hasn't got a clue if he's getting comfortable, moving closer, or if something's wrong. He doesn't know anything. He can't do a damn thing and the uselessness from earlier settles heavily in Dean's chest.

Cas says, "No," which Dean had been expecting because there is no way he would ever have that much luck. "As long as the book remains within this place it will weaken me."

He sounds like he's about to apologise so Dean cuts in, "S'okay. Didn't think it'd be that easy."

Dean thinks of Cas getting bitten and painting the tomb with his own blood. Cas still has his knife and even with the sound of the demons trying to get in he can hear Cas breathing, faster and heavier than normal, like he's been running or fighting. "You okay?" Dean asks. "You're not bleeding to death?"

"I'm not," Cas assures him, but Dean isn't convinced Cas would notice it if he _was_.

"You sure?" It's safer, easier, to worry about this than anything else. "One of those things got you, didn't it?"

"It did," Cas sighs. "I can't feel it."

Dean frowns. "That's not actually a good thing, you know." He rifles through his pockets for his matches. He can do this for Cas, if nothing else. Dean's touched Cas a hundred times before and it doesn't have to mean something weird. Dean won't let it be something weird. "Come over here and let me see."

"It's fine," Cas protests.

And Dean's not even sure why he's so intent on this because he's pretty sure Cas can heal himself, eventually. But it's something to do, and it's something he wants to do for Cas. "Then you won't mind me looking," he says.

"You can't see," Cas argues.

Dean rolls his eyes. "Are you _trying_ to be a pain in the ass? Just come here." He reaches out a hand towards where he guesses Cas is sitting.

It's to help him, Dean tells himself. To repay Cas, or something, and in no way because he wants to get his dirty hands back on Cas or because Dean's insecure enough in the pitch black, buried in a tomb, to want to get a hold of Cas just to be sure he's actually there.

Dean worries, for a moment, that Cas doesn't _want_ to get near him. For all Dean knows Cas might hate him for what he's done. He's an angel, and angels don't do the groping thing, and maybe Cas is as sick at Dean as Dean is at himself.

He hears Cas sigh again before there's shuffling, and then Cas's hand is in his and Dean is suddenly struck by the realisation that _Cas is holding his hand_. And worse, Dean _asked_ for it.

He's just helping Cas out, he reminds himself, and quickly adjusts his grip so that he's lightly holding Cas's wrist rather than his hand. Dean tugs Cas closer and leans forward.

"This the bitten one?" he asks. Deflecting. There is and has never been any handholding here. None at all.

"Yes," Cas says wearily. "It's not bleeding anymore."

Cas's skin feels hot to the touch and Dean has to wonder what's normal for the angel, because Cas's hands have been both cold and warm today but before that Dean's got nothing to compare them to. It was always a shoulder, or Cas's back, or maybe an arm. Dean knew the texture of Cas's coat, but not much else.

Dean lets his fingers slide up Cas's wrist, trying to move Cas's arm close enough that he'll be able to get a good look at the damage -for all of the five seconds of light his matches will give him. He's afraid to ask Cas to make more light. Cas is in bad enough shape as it is and Dean doesn't want to make it worse. Anyway, he's Dean Winchester and he can handle a little problem like lack of any form of lighting. Don't need angel-juice for that.

But then his fingers slide into what feels a lot like blood, thick and fresh, and Cas's breath hitches. He tries to pull away, but Dean catches his hand.

"I thought you said it wasn't bleeding?" Dean demands.

"The bite isn't." Cas tries to shake his hand free and there is no way Dean is letting that happen.

"You went and slit your wrists-"

"Wrist," Cas interjects.

"-when I told you not to. You are a goddamn idiot, Cas."

From what Dean can feel, Cas's wound is still oozing blood and Dean can tell Cas doesn't like the cut being touched so he thinks it must hurt too.

"It was necessary," is all Cas says.

"Necessary, my ass. You need to be alive to get us out of here," Dean retorts. "Keep your wrist there." He lets go of Cas and brings the matches out of his pocket. They wont give him much time, but it's better than nothing.

It's disconcerting that Cas doesn't seem to think it's any kind of problem that half his blood is currently running out of him, and Dean is worried about blood loss and shock and other human things that Cas doesn't seem to have a clue about.

"The other wrist?" Dean asks, just to check.

"Just this one."

Dean wipes his hand, sticky from blood, on his pant leg before fishing out a match. "And you can't heal it?"

"No."

Cas sounds exhausted and Dean wishes he had something to offer Cas to make it better. All he can do though is look at Cas's wounds, do what he can for them, and make sure Cas doesn't do anything else stupid.

He lights the match, dropping the box and grabbing at Cas's arm to angle it closer. He blinks quickly, trying to get his eyes to adjust, and then he's looking at Cas's wrist and it's _covered_ in blood, some drying in lines along his fingers, some new and thin and running across his skin. The cuffs of his coat and shirt look like they've been dipped in red paint.

"Cas," Dean breathes, in horror and in disbelief, just as the match sputters and goes out.

"Much was required," Cas says quietly, and Dean can feel him swaying slightly in his grip. Dean thinks Cas might actually pass out on him or something, so he throws the burnt-out match to the side and takes Cas's shoulder firmly with his free hand.

"No fainting on me," Dean orders, tightening his hold on Cas. "Give me your tie."

Cas sits up straighter at that. "What for?" He sounds suspicious, and if Dean didn't know better he would think the angel was getting all protective over his clothes.

"To wrap your wrist. We have to stop that bleeding before you pass out."

Cas fidgets and Dean worries that his movements are slow and uncoordinated before Cas lets out a long sigh and seems to sag. "Fine," he says shortly.

Dean waits as Cas pulls the tie off one-handed, then places the material in his hand.

"You have to let me know if I put it in the right place," Dean tells him, because he can't hold a match and tie a makeshift bandage at the same time, no matter how awesome he is.

Dean can hear Cas moving but gets no reply. "I can't tell if you're nodding at me," Dean reminds him.

Cas huffs in what Dean thinks might be amusement. "Yes, alright."

With Cas's arm laid lightly against his knee, Dean guesses at about where he saw the deep cut and presses Cas's, or Jimmy Novak's, or whoever's, tie down against the wrist. He knows he's got it more or less in the right place when Cas sucks in a breath through his teeth.

"Is that covering it all?" Dean asks. Cas hums in agreement so Dean wraps the tie tightly around the arm as many times as it will go.

After it's done and tied Cas sounds sort of sad when he says, "I liked that tie," which is so the weirdest thing he's said all day that Dean can't help but laugh.

"I'll buy you a new one, buddy," he assures Cas. "When we get out of here."

Dean can't decide if he's saying that for Cas's sake, or his own.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**_4. Evocation_**

There is a tense silence between them for a moment before Cas says, "There are ways," which sounds kind of creepy and ominous and Dean almost doesn't want to ask.

Dean tries to get more comfortable because his leg is falling asleep sitting on the cold floor and he feels like he's going to be here a while. The movement pulls at something, reminding Dean that his ankle is fucked. He hisses involuntarily and the next second he feels a warm hand over the fabric at his knee, the other on his leg.

"You're bleeding still, too," Cas tells him sternly. "I should have noticed." He sounds annoyed with himself.

"You had your own problems," Dean shrugs.

He hates that Cas's touch is kind of comforting, but there's no way Dean is going to forget he doesn't deserve it. He wants to tell Cas to let go, to move away, but Cas squeezes Dean's knee like he knows what he's thinking.

"Stubborn," Dean thinks he hears Cas say under his breath and then Cas is taking off Dean's boot and pretty much all Dean can think is, Jesus, fucking _ow_.

"The bite is deep."

Dean can hear Cas's voice, low and quiet, coming from somewhere to his right. Then Dean feels fingers prodding at the wounds.

"Cas," he grates out. "You want to stop that?"

Cas ignores Dean, lifting up his like he's inspecting and not stopping the poking at all. Bastard.

"I don't have anything to wrap it with," Cas says, sounding frustrated. "You aren't wearing a tie," as though that's the only suitable thing to make a bandage with in the world.

Dean shakes his head dismissively, feeling himself grin because Cas really seems to have a weird thing for ties. "It's fine. Don't worry about it."

There's a pause before Dean feels Cas's hand back on his knee. "I can't help it," Cas says, sounding surprised by the realisation.

They sit in silence for a while as Dean tries to work out what to make of that. Cas feeling. Cas being worried. Or maybe just annoyed that he can't heal anymore. That he's weakened and cut off. Or maybe Cas is just pissed off he hasn't got any more ties.

Dean feels Cas pulling off his sock and he's more gentle and careful than Dean expected him to be. Except, Dean knows, Cas _is_ soft, with his lips and his tongue and with his fingers against Dean's neck. Even now Cas's hands on his leg make Dean shiver. Dean hates himself for the reaction.

"These creatures," Cas says, "What happened-" Cas pauses and Dean's pretty sure he's thinking about how to put it, whatever he wants to say, and Dean definitely does not want to hear this. Dean knows he deserves accusation and anger, but none of it will help. It won't change what's happened, and it won't get them out of here.

"Cas," Dean says in warning, but Cas just speaks over him, pressing determinately against Dean's foot with what Dean guesses is his own sock. He supposes this must be Cas's attempt to stem the bleeding. Either that or he's enjoying causing Dean pain, and Dean knows that Cas isn't like him. Would never be like that.

"What happened between us. It's not what you imagine, I think."

Dean's pretty sure it _is_ what he imagines. What he felt. What he _feels_.

Cas goes on, "The demons are ancient and well-known to us. To angels. Their teeth are sharp."

"Yeah, I noticed," Dean snorts. "Went right through my boot."

"Their claws are poisoned," Cas continues, ignoring Dean. "The air they exhale is poisoned. Their minds cause madness."

Dean thinks of the sting and heat along his back, and worse, of Cas's eye. The way the day has gone so far, of _course_ it's poison. Dean can only think that their injuries -poison delivered direct to their blood- made the effects worse. That it made the lust and want burn so strong Dean would have just taken Cas and not fucking cared at all if he wanted it or not. Dean wonders, then, if there's still poison in him and this... affection, is not him at all. He wonders if it's just one more way the demons are fucking with them, because Cas is still being gentle and he speaks with such warmth and kindness it makes Dean feel like a complete asshole.

It doesn't feel the same though, this concern for Cas, this being glad he's alive and there with Dean, trusting Cas and not minding him being annoying. All this, Dean thinks, has been there a while. He just never noticed it before.

"Is that why..." Dean tries to ask but Cas cuts him off again.

"No. The poison doesn't have that effect."

"Reading my mind?" Dean asks, pretty sure he's annoyed because if Cas knows what he's thinking then he also knows that Dean can't stop thinking about _that_.

"It was obvious what you were going to ask." It sounds like an honest answer and Dean is relieved, but he does notice that Cas didn't actually answer the question.

Cas's hands leave him and thank God for that, because Cas really doesn't have a clue. Dean's not really even sure why he's letting Cas do whatever he's doing to his foot. Or why he's still letting Cas touch him, except that maybe Dean likes the contact.

There's the sound of shuffing material, then ripping.

"You don't have to rip up your clothes, Cas," Dean says, alarmed. It's cold in the tomb, and Cas has lost a shit load of blood. Angel or not Dean can tell he's not doing so hot.

"It's just a shirt," Cas says. "And I can repair it later." More ripping, then, "And you must be able to walk."

Dean raises his eyebrows. "If you've got a way out of here I'm all ears."

Cas doesn't reply, just takes hold of Dean's now very cold foot and starts wrapping cool cotton around it tightly. Dean lets him, knowing how much it helps to be doing something, even when there's nothing to be done. Cas's touch is light and warm.

Then, into the quiet between them Cas says, "These demons are called _Amanojaku_. They draw out, and exacerbate, subconscious desires. There is some basis to what... is felt. It makes their effect all the more pronounced. More real."

More real.

It takes Dean a moment to understand what Cas is trying to say, and when he thinks that maybe he does he can't believe it.

"I had not realised," Cas says, and Dean expects more. Needs more.

To believe what Cas is saying, Dean needs to hear that Cas understands _wanting_ someone, and being wanted. He needs Cas to tell him he hadn't realised it could be _good_. But Cas doesn't say anything, just ties off his bandaging and doesn't move, inhumanly still. Dean can hear him breathing and is glad for that at least. Outside the demons scratch and whine and pound against the tomb walls. The sound seems weirdly muffled, or else Dean is still half-deaf from Cas's true voice.

Then Cas asks, "Should you put your shoe on? I think it's cold. I'm not sure." And Dean is really not sure how to take that. If Cas were anyone else he would think they were messing with him, but Cas is Cas and doesn't seem to know _how_ to mess with people purposefully like that.

Dean tells him, "Yeah, I'll put it back on," because that's safe and something he can deal with. Dean reaches out for the shoe, but Cas pushes his hand away.

"Let me," Cas says, and carefully slides Dean's foot into his boot like he's some princess or something. "I can see that you think there is some guilt on your part for what we have done," Cas says and Dean is starting to think he's going to get vertigo from the way Cas keeps changing the subject. "But there is not. I-" he pauses, Dean hears him sigh. "I feel this too."

"This?" Dean asks, disbelieving. "Do you even know what this is? What that was?"

Cas is tying up his laces, and it's so surreal that Dean shakes his head. "You're an _angel_, Cas." As though Cas might not have noticed. But he doesn't seem to be getting it; that what they felt was lust and sex and _Cas is an angel_.

"I know what I am, Dean," Cas says softly, and then Dean feels Cas's hand on his knee again, Cas's fingers rubbing softly at the material there. "I know that it was not bad."

"That's not the point," Dean argues.

Cas makes a frustrated sound before suddenly Dean can feel his face close, his hands balancing on Dean's knee and his shoulder, and then, just for a second, there are lips pressed softly against Dean's and Dean is too stunned to do anything but sit there and take it.

When Cas pulls away and speaks he's so close Dean can feel warm breath against his mouth and can feel Cas's hands still resting heavily against him. Dean can feel the weight of Cas's coat against his knees and brushing against his hand. "There is something I can try," Cas says, his voice almost a whisper. "A spell of sorts that can destroy every demon in this place."

And Cas tells him this _now_, Dean thinks incredulously.

Cas goes on, "But it will require leaving these wards I have built, and it is not an easy spell."

Dean narrows his eyes at that. "Not easy how?"

"It will likely kill me," Cas replies, and he sounds so unconcerned at the idea of his own death that Dean wants to smack him.

"_No_, Cas," Dean tells him firmly. Because he's not getting left alone. Because Cas just fucking _kissed_ him. "What's the point if you're just going to die?"

Cas shifts, leaning more heavily against Dean like he's growing tired. Dean thinks of the blood on his wrists and his eye, and the quiet way he's talking, and how he can feel Cas's hands clenching and unclenching beside him. He must be exhausted, Dean reasons, and reaches out one hand to grip at Cas's arm and the other to hold his waist. Cas relaxes into his hands.

"We-" Cas pauses and amends, "You would have to hold off the hordes as I performed the necessary ritual. But Dean, it's a _chance_."

Dean snorts. "Not a very good one."

"But a chance," Cas reiterates. "Which is more than we have sitting here."

Dean knows that's true and sits for what feels like a long time racking his brain for any other ideas. Anything at all. With every passing minute he can hear the demons outside more clearly and the pain in his back is going from stinging to creeping, burning heat. Now that Dean isn't thinking about immediate survival, he can feel his stomach is empty and hollow and his throat is so dry he has to cough and swallow. And he can't think of a single damn thing. He can't see and they're both hurt and Dean's getting really fucking cold. They need to do something, and soon, and if there's a _chance_ maybe it's worth a shot. They've had so much shit luck _something_ has to work out for them. Just once. Something that _does not_ involve Cas dying on him. And if they both go out together, well, that isn't so bad, Dean supposes. Holding off a horde of demons doesn't exactly come with the best odds of survival either.

Dean worries though; about Sam and the Apocalypse and he can't quite believe after _everything_ he's about to get done in by _sex_ demons. It might even be weirdly fitting.

"We go out fighting then?"

Dean thinks Cas shakes his head, from the way Cas's body moves. "I would rather we not 'go out' at all. But yes."

"No better ideas?"

"Unless you can think of anything, no."

Dean nods. A chance is a chance, he guesses. And Cas is still leaning against him, like he's comfortable and doesn't want to move even though there's no way he can be, the way Cas is crouched. If Cas is telling the truth, if Cas really means it, if they might die here, Dean thinks that maybe he can have this. That he can have Cas. Can have more.

"And this?" Dean asks, rubbing his thumb lightly against the material of Cas's shirt at his waist, shifting his hand against Cas's arm, because he has to be sure.

Cas sits up a little, his fingers touch Dean's face lightly. He says, "I don't want you to think you have done anything which I would not welcome."

It's not quite what Dean meant, but it's answer enough because Dean has done some really dirty things to the angel recently and if Cas doesn't mind that, then maybe he really can do this liking someone thing. Even if it's just this once. It's not like Dean's ever going get to skip off into the sunset with someone at the end of it all, so he'll take what he can, while he can and Cas isn't saying no. He's a guy, sure, and that's mostly new. But he's also an angel and that's even _more_ new. And Cas is warm, and knows Dean, and likes him anyway, and then Cas is rubbing fingers gently across Dean's cheek. He's not human. He's weird, and he can be a total bastard, but Dean knows that _he's_ not perfect either. Not even close. And Cas is _there_ with him, his hands trailing down Dean's neck and coming to rest at his shoulders. Dean feels warm air brush across his face and knows that Cas is leaning in. Dean waits, almost holding his breath, until he can feel Cas's lips against his again.

It's like that makes the decision for him; that light, dry touch of a sort-of kiss while Cas's fingers dig into his shoulder blades, because then Dean just gives in, lets himself wrap his arms around Cas's back and pull him closer and licks at Cas's lips, wanting in. This is not like before, Dean knows. It's lust, yes, and need, _God_, yes, but it's something sappy too that Dean's not going to think about. It's the way Cas isn't letting go, how he never has really. How they might die anyway, and Dean doesn't have to think about consequences.

They don't matter, Dean decides. As long as Cas is there, he can live with consequences. Anything else he's just not going to even consider.

And Dean can certainly live with the way Cas is getting into it too. He takes Dean's tongue and meets it with his own and presses Dean back against the wall with what feels like almost all his weight and it hurts Dean's back but Cas's hands are fiddling with his shirt, stroking down his sides lightly, then playing at the hem like he's really not sure what to do with it. Or maybe Cas just isn't paying attention because he's kissing Dean with a whole lot of enthusiasm, going at it like he just can't get enough.

Dean wonders if Cas's eyes are open, watching Dean in that creepy angel way of his even now. It disturbs Dean that he doesn't think he even minds so long as Cas keeps this up. And when Cas shifts his knees so that they're pressing against Dean's groin Dean _really_ doesn't give a crap whether Cas is staring or not.

He hears himself breathe a groan into Cas's mouth, pushes his hips forward to find friction, and Cas pulls his mouth away for a moment.

Dean thinks Cas is probably going to say something stupid so Dean leans forward, kissing at the side of Cas's mouth. He runs his hands up the back of Cas's neck into his hair to tilt his head back so Dean can kiss and suck behind his ear and down his throat. Cas's pulse is fast against Dean's mouth and he bites at it and can't help smirking against smooth skin when Cas's breath hitches and he makes a weird gurgling sound that should _not_ be as hot as Dean's dick seems to think it is.

Dean wants to tell Cas he's a kinky bastard, except then Cas's hands have found their way under Dean's shirt and it's skin on skin and Cas's fingers rub at his waist, teasing at the line of his pants.

Remembering the feel and the heat of those hands on him, Dean drops his fingers down to Cas's hips, going for the belt and the buttons, hoping it's enough of a hint for Cas. You can never be too obvious with an angel, Dean's learned.

He's kind of curious if Cas knows at all what he's doing, or has done this before. Well, before their run in with crazy sex demons anyway. Cas is kind of hesitant in a way that makes Dean think he's mostly following Dean's lead, which is fine by Dean. It's not like Dean's really done this too many times with a guy either.

It's like riding a bike, Dean thinks, and finds himself smiling into the curve of Cas's shoulder.

Most of all, Dean doesn't want this to be like before, with his head heavy and full of _fuck now fuck now_, so when he's got his hands firmly inside the material of Cas's pants Dean spreads his fingers wide, loving the feel of smooth, cool skin. He strokes his hands slowly around Cas's hips before pulling him closer, knowing that's got to be giving Cas more friction because Cas jerks into the touch suddenly like he can't help it. Dean feels Cas bending his head, then his lips are warm against Dean's ear, tongue playing across the skin, and _seriously_, where does an angel learn shit like that?

There are demons outside, probably not much more than a few inches away and if there is anything in the entire universe that should be a turn-off it's that, but Dean is not going to stop because if he is going out today he is going to have a damn good time before he does. It's not like Cas seems to care. Cas, who is thankfully taking the hint and trying to get his hands down the back of Dean's jeans. Dean can only imagine that Cas has to bend himself at a really uncomfortable angle to get his lips on Dean's then, but he seems dead-set on it and Dean is not going to complain. Cas has got his tongue down his throat and fingers playing along his spine and he's making some really awesome sex-noises that are way hotter than anything Dean thinks he's ever heard before.

Dean breathes, "Fuck," into Cas's mouth, and "_Fuck_," when Cas finally remembers there are buttons on jeans that need undoing if you want to get into them. Just the feel of Cas's fingers fumbling against the thick material is enough to get Dean really hard really fast. As hands brush him Dean can't stop himself from making some really embarrassing noises that sound a lot like grunting. Dean pushes forward as one of Cas's hands finds its way past underwear and to his cock, running fingers along the length then palming it kind of tentatively. Cas pulls lightly and Dean is going to have to tell Cas that he's going to have to put a lot more effort into it than that if he wants Dean to come sometime this century. Or not, because this is _Cas_ and he's got his hands on Dean's dick and just the thought of that is enough to make him groan and jerk his hips forward like a horny teenager.

Then Cas whispers against Dean's cheek, "Like before?" and Dean shakes his head, angry, because this is going to be _different_ dammit. He tells him, "No," as firmly as he can.

It takes just about all his willpower to do, but Dean takes hold of Cas's forearms and pulls them up, drawing his hands out of Dean's jeans.

Cas leans back a bit, like he might have done something wrong so Dean ignores the aching of his cock and the pain spiking in his ankle at the sharp movement and surges forward, pushing Cas, still holding onto his arms, until Cas topples back. Dean pushes him down then, trusting that the angel isn't _that_ breakable.

Cas lets out a sound of surprise as his back hits the stone, but it doesn't sound like it hurt. Dean leans over him, finds Cas's chin with one hand and then with his mouth, kissing his way across stubble and skin.

The stone is freezing against Dean's knees and his back aches from the position he's bent himself into, pulling at wounds Dean's managed to half-forget about, but Cas is warm and soft and pliable underneath him, spreading one hand across Dean's chest, sliding it down his side. Dean's still gripping at one of Cas's arms, not wanting to let him go. When Dean presses his body closer to Cas's, Dean can feel Cas _letting_ him. The hand Dean has resting against Cas's cheek slides around the angel's neck, holding him tightly, bringing Cas in for another kiss. Cas lets Dean shove a knee between his legs, lets Dean press down on him with most of his body weight and then _grind_ against him.

There are buttons and zippers and pants in the way but the friction is fucking awesome and the angle isn't bad and Cas is pressing up against him with his hips and almost panting so Dean figures he's getting into it too. Dean grinds down again, pressing them together, and again, and Dean can feel that Cas is hard.

Cas is new at this, Dean remembers, and he's not going to last long. And Dean can feel from the heat and the pressure in the pit of his stomach, and lower, that he's not going to last much longer like this either.

He should be embarrassed, Dean thinks, because he is a grown man who has had a shit load of sex and he's getting off on dry-humping someone he can't even see in a way he hasn't since he was fifteen.

But then, this is Cas, shoving back against Dean and whispering, "Dean," in hot breaths against his face. He's not just some random fuck and Dean isn't bastard enough to not realise that if they do survive this, there are going to be Consequences. It should scare him and make him back off, or at least lie to himself, but he won't do that to Cas. Whatever happens, he'll deal with it later, when Cas's hands aren't sliding slowly up Dean's chest and around his neck and burying themselves in Dean's hair, tugging almost painfully hard, pulling Dean down so Cas can lick his way into his mouth again.

Dean realises it's familiar, the way Cas kisses, that it's pretty much the same as the way Dean's been kissing Cas, which is weird. But Cas clearly liked it enough to give it a try himself so Dean opens his mouth, meets Cas's tongue, shoves his body down against Cas until the chafing of fabric on skin is almost too uncomfortable.

Cas really seems to have got the hang of it then, thrusting up to meet Dean in more of a rhythm. His hands reach down Dean's back, grabbing at Dean's ass and _pulling_ and Dean can't help but laugh into Cas's mouth.

"Not as innocent," Dean chuckles, "As you look."

Cas kisses Dean, hard, shifts his knees higher and oh fuck _there_, before he threatens, serious, heavy, "I could stop." His hands grab at Dean's ass harder though so Dean says confidently, "No, you couldn't," and reaches his hand down between them. He pushes the fabric of Cas's pants out of the way and follows the line of Cas's hard cock through the material of his underwear. Loose cotton, Dean feels. Dean grins, smug, when Cas really actually moans and arches himself into Dean's hand. He kisses Cas's open mouth, presses himself down, grinds them together, and feels heat building, knows that he's sweating and that he's _so close_.

Panting and whispering Dean's name, Cas grabs at Dean's shoulders and at his hips, trying to get closer and trying to get friction. Cas shoves himself off the floor into Dean's hand, and under him Dean can feel how much Cas is feeling this. How much Cas is liking this and wanting this. And if it really is the first time Cas has ever done this Dean's impressed Cas has lasted even this long. Dean's pretty impressed with himself too, the way Cas keeps moving his knee against Dean's crotch and keeps kissing Dean's neck and chin where he can't quite reach his mouth. Cas breathes warm against his ear, "Dean," and "This is," and "I'm."

Dean moves his hand faster, growls out, "Faster," and "_Fuck_, yes," in reply. His elbows ache from leaning against cold stone, his back stings from the demon claws and his ankle hurts from the strain as he digs his toes into the ground and thrusts himself forward and he doesn't care. He wants this and he wants Cas and he's not going to think about what this could cost him or what this means or any of that kind of shit because this could be the last thing he does anyway, or the last time he does this with Cas, and either way he's going to make it _good_.

So Dean shifts his palm, presses more firmly, spreading his hand against Cas and Cas rears up against Dean, holding himself still and Dean can't even feel him breathing anymore and, _oh God_, Dean just made an angel come. Cas's body is still taut beneath him, almost shaking, holding onto Dean's hips in a crushing grip. Dean thrusts himself against Cas's knee once, twice and with the heat of it and the _thought_ of it, Dean just breathes out, lets go and feels himself coming too, jerking himself against Cas. Dean's whole body feels flushed and it's like he's being smothered from the inside out. He's got his eyes closed tight as he rocks into Cas's softening body a few more times, riding it out until the bright, overpowering pleasure has gone right out of it. Dean's arms are killing him and it's all he can do to flop down to the side of Cas, half on top of him still and _breathe_. Cas doesn't seem to mind, or if he does he doesn't say anything, but his hands lay warm against Dean's sides. Cas feels relaxed under Dean, kind of comfortable where Dean's head lays propped against Cas's chest, and Dean would really like to just fall asleep like this. Not worry about anything. Just forget the world and have this.

They don't move for a long time, or what seems like a long time, and Dean lets himself doze and pretend there's nothing at all but himself and Cas and some awesome post-sex endorphins. But slowly the hard floor becomes too uncomfortable to ignore and Dean's arm grows numb from the cold. Dean can hear the demons outside again, still scraping and growling. He can smell blood and dust and now there's sex added to that, and Dean feels damp and itchy where he's made a mess of his jeans and his stomach. Cas's shirt against his face smells of sweat and Dean imagines he probably doesn't smell any better. Aches return and Dean thinks this might be worst comedown ever. He shivers and then an arm wraps around his back and Cas's still-warm hand touches his cheek. He says, "Dean," and Dean thinks Cas might just be worth it all.

"We can't stay here forever," Cas says, and he sounds almost regretful.

Dean snorts softly. "Wouldn't want to."

They're silent for a long moment in which Dean doesn't know what to say. He can't see Cas's face to gauge what he might be thinking about all this. In the darkness, all Dean can hear is his breathing, slow now, and feel Cas's chest under his head and his side, Cas's hand resting clammily against the back of Dean's neck. It's not cuddling, Dean tells himself. There is no cuddling happening. It's just kind of cold and Dean doesn't want to move.

"We won't die," Dean decides. He knows they're about to do something reckless and desperate, but it's nothing Dean hasn't done before and come out the other side more or less in one piece. He doesn't want to talk about whatever it is going on between them. Whatever's been between them for months now; something like trust and friendship and it's something different from anything Dean's ever known. It's all his. He doesn't have to share. This -liking someone- is new and maybe weird but Dean doesn't want to lose it.

Shifting to try and get some life back into his left arm Dean adds, "And next time we get a bed."

Cas's hand squeezes gently for a moment at the muscles in Dean's neck then he agrees, "Next time," and Dean grins into Cas's shirt and is for once glad of the dark, even if he knows Cas can still see.

"We good to go?" Dean asks after another long moment. He remembers what a mess Cas was in and reaches with his hand to feel its way down from Cas's shoulder to his wrist to touch at the makeshift tie-bandaging there.

Cas says, "Yes," and pulls his arm away from Dean's touch, starts pushing himself into a sitting position slowly.

Deans levers himself out of Cas's way, feeling every ache and pull and burn now, but he's weirdly rested too. Or that might just be those sex endorphins again. Sitting up, Dean keeps his leg against Cas's thigh so he knows Cas is still there. Cas doesn't move away.

"You alright?" Dean asks, zipping up his jeans and grimacing at the uncomfortable dampness and grittiness and Dean really hopes he hasn't somehow managed to get _dirt_ down there with all the... moving about.

Now that he thinks about it, it's bad enough he's going to have to face a horde of demons sporting a wet patch and sex hair. Shit.

Cas tells him, "I'm fine."

Dean wraps his arms around himself, really starting to feel the cold against his damp skin. Cas shivers beside him.

"Know how to button those pants up?" Dean teases.

"The opposite way to getting them undone, I suppose," Cas throws back and holy crap, Dean thinks Cas just might be making an attempt at sarcasm. He goes to call him on it, but then Cas adds, "This is messy," and Dean laughs because, yeah, messy post-sex angel and Dean would give almost anything to see that.

"Yeah," Dean agrees. "This wasn't the best place to do... that."

Cas goes still, like he's thinking what to say and it's _serious_. Dean wonders if he's going to go for something embarrassing and touchy-feely, or if he's going to tell Dean this whole thing was a mistake and to pretend it never happened.

But all he says is, "Next time," again, definitive and Dean smiles and wonders if Cas is smiling too.

"What's the master plan then?" Dean asks, because if they don't stop sitting around being all sappy and gross Dean really is going to say something embarrassing, or else die of old age.

"We leave the wards," Cas says. "I perform the spell while you hold off the demons."

"Cas, that is a shitty plan." Dean feels he should point this out.

Dean thinks he can hear Cas shaking his head. "I don't have another."

"There's no way you can do the spell in here? Can't we, I don't know, just wipe off the sigils?"

"And then we would be trapped in here, and the demons would break in immediately and we would have nowhere to run. And you would not be able to see."

Dean has to admit, it's a pretty good argument. "Then how do we get out without getting mobbed?"

Cas thinks for a moment, then suggests, "I could speak in my true voice again." He frowns. "But it would hurt you."

"It's not so bad," Dean half-lies, because it hurts like a bitch, but from what he could tell it hurt the demons a whole lot more. "So you talk in angel, we climb up onto one of these tombs so we've at least got a defensible position and then you do your thing while I beat them off." Dean kneels down, running his hands across the floor, knowing the knife and iron have to be somewhere close. "I can do that."

Then Cas reminds him, "And we must endure the demon's influence, should they use it against us."

Dean looks up sharply, even if he can't actually see anything. "_What?_ Fuck, no," he groans. After everything, that's about the last thing Dean needs; fake lust and a demon-induced hard-on and Cas really knows how to kill his moment of optimism.

"We will not have much time anyway," Cas goes on. "If I can't perform the ritual quickly I won't be able to at all."

Dean sighs and goes back to feeling around on the floor. His hand comes across the cold metal of the iron and he closes his fist tightly around it. "Right," is all he can say.

Cas adds unhappily, "I will need the knife."

Dean should really have guessed that there would be a bloodletting involved, because every single spell he's ever seen seems to have to, and because their day is clearly just not bad enough already. Even so, Dean wishes there was another way.

"You gonna be okay doing that?"

Maybe Dean's just imagining it but there's a softness to Cas's voice when he replies, "We don't have much choice, Dean."

"Yeah," Dean has to agree.

It sounds like Cas is picking himself slowly up off the floor somewhere to his right, brushing off his clothes. Dean doesn't even want to know how shitty they must look. They've been through a dusty old burning library, a damp, demon-monster infested crypt and humped each other on the floor of a tomb and there's no way anyone comes out of that smelling like roses.

Somehow, the knife ended up in a far corner and Dean almost wishes he hadn't found it, but they're never getting out of here without it so he picks up the blade and uses the wall to help lever himself up onto his feet. His ankle burns when he puts weight on it and he's light-headed and nauseous and thinks he's going to end up back on his ass any second, but then Dean feels Cas's hand at his elbow, his other hand gripping his upper arm.

"You're in pain," Cas says. He doesn't sound happy. "You can't fight the demons like this."

"I can," Dean tells him. He's fought demons in a much worse state than this before. He just needs a second to get his breath and his balance back.

"You should stay here," Cas argues, sounding like he's going for firm and decisive even as his thumb rubs against the material of Dean's jacket sleeve. Dean doesn't think Cas even realises he's doing it.

Dean straightens. "There is no way I am letting you go out there by yourself." Shaking his arm to dislodge Cas's grip on his elbow, Dean takes Cas's hand and slaps the knife into the palm. "Let's just get this over with."

Cas doesn't move or speak for long moments and Dean thinks they're going to get into an argument over this, but then Dean feels Cas's fingers curl around the blade carefully and he says, "Alright." He pulls away but doesn't let go of Dean's arm. "As I open the door I will speak, and then we will leave."

It all sounds so easy in principle.

"Just like that, huh?" Dean shakes his head. He's had worse ideas in his life. He thinks.

"Hopefully," Cas says. He tugs at Dean's arm, drawing him out of the corner towards the other side of the room. Tomb. Whatever. "There will be light when I open the door and it will take your eyes time to adjust. I will guide you as best I can."

Dean shifts his grip on the iron, rolls his shoulders. "Right. Just point me in the direction of those evil bitches," he quips and tries for a smile.

Cas still has a hand resting loosely on Dean's arm so Dean takes the opportunity, because he might not get one again, and reaches out his free hand, finding the front of Cas's damned coat and drags Cas bodily towards him. Dean has to guess where Cas's mouth would be but he gets it more or less right and for a moment Cas is rigid and unyielding before he realises what's going on and relaxes under Dean's hand and under Dean's mouth, leaning closer. Dean kisses him hard, until Cas's lips are well used and he's breathless. Cas is a solid weight in front of him, warm and alive, and he has one hand in Dean's hair and the other Dean can feel against his back, still holding the knife.

Dean says, "For luck," rubs his thumb at the nape of Cas's neck, feels the softness of his hair and the dampness of his skin and Cas shivers before pulling away.

"We will be very lucky then," he says, and it sounds like he's actually kind of amused. Dean grins.

Then, Dean hears Cas moving away and guesses Cas has turned towards some door that Dean can't remember coming in through and certainly can't see. There's a scraping sound of stone against stone and Dean can hear the demons outside getting louder. He's not sure if it's because of the door opening, or because the demon bastards are getting excited about having their playthings back to beat up and fuck around with. Either way, Dean hefts the iron, gripping it with both hands and tries to prepare himself for the aching pitch of Cas's voice.

Just as light is beginning to spill around the edges of the door, Cas starts to speak and there really is no way Dean could have been ready for it. It feels like someone's clawing at his brain, his ears burning from the inside out. Dean tries to concentrate on Cas, whose back is turned to him. Dean can see the strain in his shoulders and arms even under his enormous coat as Cas pushes the heavy stone door open. It's weird, Dean thinks, that there's no strain in that true voice of his. It's just one long, high-pitched note with no inflection and no break.

In the growing light Dean has to close his eyes, opening them slowly. He focuses on the cool metal in his hands, on the memory of Cas's hands and Cas's mouth. When he can finally see, even as the light makes his eyes water after the pitch black, Dean watches as Cas pushes his weight against the door so it's open enough for them to fit through. He can't see clearly, but Cas looks worse than Dean imagined; his coat stained with blood and dirt and ripped. But then, Dean guesses, he probably doesn't look much better.

Stepping outside, Dean can see the demons writhing in agony, and Dean would swear there weren't that many before. They're crowded around the tomb, falling over each other, slashing at each other as some of them attempt to escape the sound of Cas's voice. Dean can relate.

Then, Cas grabs Dean's sleeve and is pulling them through the open doorway, shouldering at demons in an effort to clear a path for them. Dean takes a breath, tries to ignore the incessant buzzing in his head and the wet warmth he's beginning to feel in his ears. He tries to open his eyes fully so he can defend himself, help clear the way, without risking swinging at Cas. The light in the graveyard is dim, he knows, but it still makes his eyes prickle and sting.

Cas moves fast, releasing his hold on Dean, and Dean watches numbly as a red faced creature launches itself at the angel, grasping for his neck. Cas knocks it away easily throwing it a good seven feet.

Getting his strength back then, Dean thinks with a fuck load of relief.

Watching Cas now, he certainly doesn't look as half-dead as he did earlier. His eye is almost normal, just yellowed -like old bruising- and there's dry blood down his cheek and neck. Dean can see clearly the wide red stains on the sleeves of his coat and at the cuffs, and on the collar of his shirt. The tie is still wound around Cas's wrist and seeing it makes Dean feels angry and useless because Cas is going to cut himself open all over again and spill more of his blood in this shit hole of a graveyard.

The sound is making his head spin, and Dean trips over a demon's tail or leg or _something_. He thinks he's going to fall facedown into a heaving mass of demon creatures at this rate, and wouldn't that just make his day end perfectly, when he feels Cas there again, hand folding tightly around Dean's arm before hauling him along quickly.

It takes Dean a few moments to realise that the sound is gone and that he can't feel the pain of his eardrums about to burst, or his head about to split open. There's just an annoying ringing and the dizzying relief of _thank God for that_.

Dean's relieved, at least, until he feels something swiping at his ankle and his foot reminds him it's already in a lot of pain thanks, and that the demons are going to be up and about any second now too.

He looks at Cas, who's looking around hurriedly. There's a high-walled tomb at their back, Dean realises.

"Why did you stop?" Dean asks urgently. His voice sounds muffled to his own ears and he has to strain to hear Cas's reply.

"It was too much for you." Cas puts his shoulder to the wall and crouches down, his hands cupped together in front of him. "I'll help you up," he says. "Quickly."

Dean would really love to argue but the demons are stirring, shaking their heads, and some of them are way too close for comfort. So Dean puts his hands on Cas's shoulders and trusts that he can bear his weight.

It seems like he does easily, because as soon as Dean's got his boot in Cas's hands, Cas boosts him up and it's an easy task to hook his arms over the roof-edge of the tomb and pull the rest of his body onto the roof. He turns around quickly, laying himself down flat on his stomach and reaching a hand down towards Cas. Demons are starting to crawl and claw their way towards him.

"Cas, hurry the fuck up," he shouts because they are _too close_ and Cas is not even looking up at him, but somewhere to his left. Dean shouts again, angry, "Cas!" and this time Cas looks up. Dean wriggles his fingers at him. "Get the fuck up here," he commands and is thankful when Cas actually obeys, reaching towards Dean with one hand. Dean grabs on and hauls Cas up, his back pulling painfully as Cas scrabbles his feet against the rough stone of the tomb wall. The angel's weirdly light and Dean thinks he must be doing something to make himself that way because there's concentration and sweat on his face like he's running a marathon.

Something almost yanks Cas out of his grasp and Dean curses, seeing the demons swiping at Cas's legs and coat and he thinks fuck, _fuck_, because he's losing his grip. Cas cries out suddenly and it sounds a lot like pain so Dean makes a decision. He pretty much throws the iron he's still gripping down to his side and reaches out with a second hand, grabbing hold of both Cas's forearms and pulling as hard as he can.

Suddenly Cas feels lighter, as though the demons have lost their grip on him. Cas uses the opportunity to clamber his way up Dean's arms, flinging himself onto the tomb roof and Dean lets him, grabbing hold of the iron again as soon as Cas doesn't need his help anymore. He swings the iron a few times at the demons below as they try to climb up on top of each other, feeling sickly satisfied when the metal connects with a skull and a shoulder and Dean hears bones cracking.

Dean pulls himself up onto unsteady feet, sees Cas moving behind him, settling on his knees. They look at each other for a second and then there's no more time because the demons are howling and this time Cas winces. There's heat in Dean's stomach that is definitely not him, but that fake-lust shit these demons are obsessed with. Cas must feel it too because he shifts uncomfortably, looks down and splits the wrist that's not bound by his tie open and red blood spills out. Dean has to look away.

Instead, he stalks to the edges of the tomb, batting away any demons that even make it close to climbing up. Dean knows though, at that now familiar and really fucking hated prickling across his skin and weight in his stomach and light-headed euphoria, that he won't be able to hold them off for long. He's starting to want to touch and taste and he's sweating and grinding his teeth and those fuckers are not going to make them do that again. And Dean's not even _looking_ at Cas.

Over their caterwauling be shouts, "Hurry up, Cas," and doesn't even think about looking back at him. That would be the worst idea in the fucking universe.

Dean takes out the frustration and the anger on the creatures, moving quickly around the edges of the tomb, swiping at the creatures and pushing them away. It almost makes Dean feel better, because it's the asshole demons' own fault.

They're gaining ground, getting up onto the roof, and Dean's getting reckless in his rage. A claw catches him in the arm and Dean slams his boot down onto the demon's knee and would sneer at the idiot creature except there are others climbing up, over bodies, dead or alive. They don't seem to give a crap.

Cas is chanting something, low and powerful, and it makes Dean's hair stand on end and a chill run down his spine. It makes the demons even more angry, even more determined, and they come at them snarling and desperate. Dean knows he can't let them disturb Cas. He knows that Cas needs to finish whatever spell he's casting or they're both dead anyway.

And then it hits Dean.

He never thought to ask _what_ spell Cas was going to do. He could be killing himself over there, and from the amount of red Dean can see out the corner of his eye spilling onto the grey stone, he _is_.

But he has to trust Cas. Dean has to believe Cas isn't going to leave him behind, and that he was telling the truth when he said that this was a chance.

A chance for _them_.

Under his breath Dean curses. He's pissed off and he's tired and every fucking muscle in his body burns but he can do this, he decides. He can trust Cas.

A demon gets a hit at Dean's side. He rolls with it, smacks the creature upside the head with the iron then turns quickly, takes out a demon making a beeline for Cas. He sees the complicated sigils drawn in thick blood, arched and long like the weird writing from the book he ran his fingers all over and felt raised and warm and unreal in the library above them. He sees Cas bend down and place both his palms flat against the centre of his spell, speaking clipped words that don't even sound like language. And Dean believes that this is a chance.

As Dean watches, a blinding light erupts from Cas's hands and spreads, growing more intense. The whiteness washes over him and it's like having his head shoved underwater. There's silence, rather than voice, and loneliness and it doesn't hurt exactly but it's touch, as it passes though him, _caressing_, feels like an ache. Dean wants peace and rest and sleep so badly he wants to cry. Dean really hopes he's not crying. Sam would laugh at him.

It's so bright that Dean has to close his eyes tightly, but Dean supposes the spell is working, or at least that _something_ is happening. He wonders if the demons want to cry too.

Then, suddenly, it's gone. The light, the silence, and the deep feeling of emptiness, all gone like they were never there. It's like the world snaps back into place and there's just Dean, remembering that his ankle hurts and he's dizzy. That he's half-deaf and his back is stinging. That he's in a cold, dank crypt with a horde of demons and one beaten up angel.

Angel.

Demons.

Dean blinks, finding himself half-laying, half-sitting up, curled in on himself. He doesn't remember sitting down, but from the moment Dean turned to look at Cas, saw him kneeling, hands flat against the stone roof, eyes closed and lips moving, Dean's memory is kind of hazy and indistinct.

Glancing around quickly, Dean spots Cas nearby, sprawled out across his own blood sigils.

And he's not moving.

Dean stumbles to his feet as quickly as he can, which is not all that fast because he feels like crap and the world tilts sickeningly when he finally gets his legs under him and half-way to standing. So Dean half walks and half crawls his way over to Cas, and when Dean touches his face he feels ill. He feels panic and anger hot in his chest because Cas is so _cold_.

His skin had always been warm before, even when Dean felt half-frozen. Even when he'd been bled half-dry inside the tomb. Now he's cold and Dean is _not_ thinking dead. Dean tells himself he's not scared shitless when he presses two fingers to Cas's neck, and when he feels a pulse there Dean doesn't think about how _relieved_ he is. He tells himself it's fine. That Cas isn't going anywhere. He's an angel, for Christ's sake. He isn't going to get killed by some spell. Dean's just strung out and half-crazy, that's all.

Sitting beside Cas for a moment with his hand on Cas's cool neck, Dean closes his eyes and counts the slow beats, just so he knows he's not imagining it.

He breathes. Tells himself to get it together. He might want to pass out or die or give up but Cas isn't awake and there's still-

Dean's eyes snap open, looking up and around wildly, but he can't see a single demon. They're just not there anymore. There aren't even any bodies that Dean can see. No piles of ashes or skulls or scorch marks or teeth. Where there were hordes before, now there's just quiet, stillness and the only evidence that there was ever a fight here is blood on the ground, shallow claw marks and deep gashes in the tomb roof where the iron rod caught on stone.

It's so silent. Dead.

Dean leans over Cas, gently tapping him on the cheek.

"Cas," he calls, "Wake up, you lazy bastard."

Dean won't believe the demons aren't going to just snap back into existence and attack them again until Cas tells him they're safe. And he wants Cas to stop doing a really good impression of a corpse. When Dean puts his hand against Cas's chest he can feel that Cas is barely breathing. Cas's wrist is still bleeding sluggishly so Dean wraps his hand around it, pressing against the wound. Cas must feel that because he shifts, groaning softly and trying to tug his hand away from Dean's grip.

"Cas, come on," Dean calls again. He takes hold of Cas's shoulder, shakes him gently.

With his eyes still closed Cas says, "We're alive," like he can't quite believe it. His voice is not much more than a sigh.

"Yeah," Dean tells him grinning because, yeah, they're _alive_. "You get them all?"

Cas frowns for a moment like he's concentrating, then his eyes slowly open and his face softens. He focuses on Dean. "I did," he says, and there's a half-smile on his face that Dean thinks he really likes.

"Thank fuck for that."

Dean wants to tell Cas that was an awesome spell. He wants to tell Cas he's really glad they're not dead. And Dean wants to yell at Cas for being such a reckless asshole, and tell him never to do shit like that again, but it would all be pointless. Dean's come to learn that Cas can be a stubborn bastard when he wants to be and Dean's not sure he can even compete. Cas is looking at him sort of sleepily, with what Dean thinks looks disturbingly like affection.

His voice sounds stronger when he says, "Your kiss was indeed very lucky."

Dean laughs, and the sound echoes around the empty, high ceiling arches.

Cas adds, seriously, "We must be sure to kiss every time before we go into battle."

Dean shakes his head, smiling. "Just then? Not any other time?"

"Any other time is fine," Cas tells him. "But those times must be compulsory."

Cas's lips are turned up into a sort of smile, but he sounds so serious and stern that Dean really isn't sure if he's joking or not. But then Cas's eyes are falling closed, his shoulder relaxing under Dean's hand.

"Hey." Dean shakes Cas again. "No sleeping on the job. You've got to get us out of here."

Cas heaves a sigh that Dean thinks sounds put-upon, but he does open his eyes. The light might still be dim, but Dean can see just how exhausted and sickly Cas looks and he wishes they could stop and rest, but it's cold and Cas is still bleeding and he's pretty sure they have a long way to go yet. If they stop now, he's not sure either of them will be getting up again. Even more importantly, as soon as they can get out of this damned place, away from whatever's been interfering with Cas's angel-ness, Dean is sure Cas will be able to heal himself. Hopes he can heal himself.

Dean grips Cas's wrist more tightly and Cas grimaces. "Come on then." Dean smiles, winding an arm around Cas's back, pulling him up. Cas goes willingly, silently, blinks and sways slightly when he's on his feet. Dean knows how he feels. He's in a pretty shitty state himself, but he locks his knees and balances carefully, not wanting to lean any of his weight on Cas.

"You alright to walk?" Dean asks. He doesn't let go of Cas's wrist. He would wrap it with something, but they're all out of ties.

When Cas is more or less upright he keeps his balance and nods at Dean. "I will be fine."

Cas sounds relieved and he's staring at Dean with a curious expression that makes Dean feel all kinds of pleased.

None of what he's feeling is like before either, when it was all crazy fuck-now-ness and uncomfortable erections. That might be mostly because Cas looks like he's about to fall over, but Dean finds he's feeling kind of _fond_, along with the concern and the aches and the annoyance and the adrenaline come-down. Dean is standing very close to Cas with an arm around his shoulders and it's dangerously close to a hug. But it's not.

Even having had the shit beaten out of him, Cas looks hopeful. Dean feels Cas relax against his side, and it's trust, Dean realises.

Dean nods, tightens his not-hugging grip around Cas's shoulders and doesn't kiss him, even though he really kind of wants to. Definitely not the time. But Cas tilts his head like he knows what Dean's thinking, which he probably does. For once though Dean doesn't mind because Cas does that half-smile thing, eyes flicking to Dean's lips, and Dean's pretty sure he's thinking the same thing.

"Long way till we're out of here?" Dean asks, more so they stop having a _moment_ than because he wants to know.

Cas says, "Yes, but it will be easier now," and leans a little more against Dean before pulling away, shuffling towards the roof edge. Dean follows, hand still tight around Cas's wrist and doing his very best not to say anything embarrassingly sappy in return.

He'll take it as it comes, he thinks. He'll take what he can get, because Cas has already given him pretty much everything and it's about time he gave something back. So he'll trust him too. He'll trust this thing they've got going on.

And then Dean grins, thinking, _sex_.

He can do that too.

**END**


End file.
